#poetry - Thus Spoke the Robot

i am busted loose some times
my program strings come undone
then i am a honey bun

you feel yourself the same way
and we are then harmony
and what follows is our one true chord

this could be on any day
but living once it lives forever
for our waves may never diminish

but echo out infinitely
our celebration of each other

Generatta

I sit here, where Eliot could not,

Twenty floors above the street.

People below are color spots—

Trowsers, rolled? Flat-front or pleat?

Of their flesh is a matter of guess.

That they are human, a matter of faith.

What are they—  What? Tsk tsk, sot—

I simply take note of their game,

Watching as the hawk eyes prey from afar

Through great lanes of land and air,

But I do not swoop, I lick my feathers clean

Of the knowledge my hawk eyes glean,

Here are not matters of pride or shame,

Here is only a question of how to compare

One spot to another, high above it all—

I do not swoop because swooping involves me,

And well, you see,

The twenty floors between,

Naturally, disinterest me.