hey, kurzweil


hey, kurzweil ( liewzruk ,yeh )


robots will never

smell the petrichor

wafting up nostrils

from orgaicoil soil


stirring a song

for the hinterland’s band

– no, not the robots

the metal or flesh


too busy writing

poems online

& shining illusory shoes


walking the dog

on the crust of the moon


waving the flag

of the latest bot-fad


robots will never

catch athlete’s foot

from a paraplegic



badgering on

with a blister so persistent

she even switches heels

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