0 comments Saturday, November 29, 2008

He found offence with his right hand,
And so he had it off, replaced with shining steel,
Leaving behind the aches and pains he used to feel,
Replaced with crafted love, made in Japan.
Then some months later, when his knees gave out,
He thought a moment, gave up with a shout,
Lopped them off, and everything below,
The newly grafted pistons certainly not just for show
For instead of just watching the grandchildren playing
He could now join them in the sandpit, laughing,
His X-ray vision always looking out for danger,
And metal limbs protecting them from injuries
So he was naturally taken by surprise
When screaming mothers dragged their crying children away
(Crying more because they never won at Hide and Seek)
So he retreated to his home, defeated and meek,
Took out a pair of kidneys, a liver, a spleen,
A heart, and fifty percent of brain,
Replaced his veins with carbon nanotubes
And cartilage with artificial lubes.
So when he next appeared in public, to the shock
Of all who half-expected him to flash his cock
Instead he simply grinned and brightly gleaned
And vocalized, "I come to you in peace",
They tried their best not to treat him like a disease.
But centuries later, when all repugnance did cease,
He thought to himself and sighed out loud again,
Half-missing the missing ache and the phantom pain
Looking at silicone skin through plastic polymer eyeballs,
Thinking about his pair of life-like simulation balls,
He kind of missed the feeling of having grandchildren
And thought about what it might have been like to have them
Mourn him at his funeral.

42
2 comments Sunday, November 02, 2008

this is it
this is the answer to everything
reverse slowly
when parallel parking


look over
your shoulder, checking for glow-worms
before making a u-turn.
you must


glance at the
rear-view mirror, foot like a hover-
craft whirring
over the brakes.


lest from your
blindspot comes out
like flying fish from the sea,
raging instructors


who won't
let you pass. Alternatively, wake
from the frothy
bottle-green dreams


drunk upon
speeding the highways in smuggled
cars and yesterday's hours,
measuring


reason by the
dashboard's meter. Nothing could
be sweeter, not
even the eventual


funk,
needing to extricate yourself
from the wreckage
of fairy-dust.
____________________________
ps: sorry for the use of 42, nearly sacrilege i know. pls tell me if this is mad or vaguely normal, thanks!