Robotica

He spent all day on the internet battling atheists.
Ripping bongs and smoking fancy colored cigarettes.
Hours compiled––he couldn’t leave his computer.
Engorged in the back and forth; he transcribed the universe.
Beside him on the table––a mountain of trash.
He pours himself a victory vodka and juice.
They got nothing on robotica is all he can conclude.
He smells like healthy grandiosity and a burgeoning dream.
“God is a robot; one day those motherfuckers are gonna understand.”

In his mind he is a soaring eagle with a broken talon––
Still he catches the fish––
But he looks like a busting fire hose––
Proving wrong the myth of the hiltless sword.
His panache is bewildering.
His confidence––Fonzie-otic.
His aura––electric and unbreakable––a forcefield of belief.
High on his insanity––over the edge and misunderstood––
Deep in the realm of a shadowy hood;
It is impossible to prove him wrong.
They want him to eat pills and open his eyes.
Too bad his motto is stay crazy or die.

A stream of conviction is a beautiful sight
if the fluid is alien
and its logic is right.
May the voice in his head be a north star in the night.


Flagofthetalliban - Copy_bak_bak_bak_bak - Copy_bak - Copy_bak - Copy (3)_bak_bak - Copy - Copy - Copy - Copy - Copy_bak copy

Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s