~

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

fatso

~

badgering on

with a blister so persistent

she even switches heels

…