Thursday, March 8, 2007

Robot Wedding

We were waiting to attend the robot wedding.
They prefer to marry in the middle of a dust storm.
You could hear the dogs pulling against their chains.
How does one act in a dark room full of strangers?
Most of them made of metal, no less.
I don’t want to lie to you robot priest:
I’ve never been to confession.
You may anoint me in oil before I rust.
The conversation turned to other peripherals:
Space is robot theater; mars missions are robot drama.
Children have no sense of morality.
Blame the programmer for that bug.
A bunch of metal tongues going “tssk, tssk.”
The wine is the color of transmission fluid.
There’s a nightmare brewing up beyond the sugar glass.
The walls were begging to be crashed through.
And they were! The bride with her clamp hands
Clutching dead flowers came through the wallpaper.
I straightened my foil tie and waited.
I could see her getting cold feet.

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