Cold skin. Broken open casket made of chromed tin.
stretching from his legs to the irish beard of a rusted chin.

simple model persistent like his kin he could never swallow
man without a mission he was not. a man could break with sorrow.

that made him lucky. joints. sparkin' with a static buzzing.
hush honey. stay inside. the beast that shines the beast thats hungry.

The war had left a metallic taste in the human race.
Mouthing curses at machines that history had not erased.

his kind a dying breed that couldnt reproduce
and now his vital juices leaking. wore their hatred like a suit. HE...

breaks upon the ridge of the rubble. ignores the daring kids
who scratch and bite to get the closest view of what he truly is.

a demon. on A moslty deserted city block.
ever since the toasters decided that they had had enough.

It rained iron and brimstone. but when the humans survived,
his legacy in ruins as the last of metalkind.



HIs power supply was the pinnacle innovation.
of the former world extinguishing cynical mother nature.

He would live forever till he tore at eternities shores
time enough for plowshares to turn themselves back into swords

Lonely can't accurately scratch the surface of the iron
adolescense hurt at the seeming lack of external purpose

physical touch. the grand enigma.
with which the ABstract. Friend or campanion could never be related to.

he was the only and he was hated.
solace from the fact that he alone would be witness to humanity fading

his weapon of choice. disinigration through the ages.
the monkeys would expire on grandest of modern stages

patience is a virtue. but his victory was certain.
first in line to the rise and fall of our collective curtain.

the balcony built for one with his monocle catching infared
time itself would john wilkes booth the men of blood and flesh.


The last laugh. If it is in his programming.
A particular grin at thought of a slow famine.

Their hatred. permeating. corrupted his circuits.
A near warm blooded hue. Our last breath. his first kiss.

And with the long awaited death of placental mammals
He took upon a mannishness defying the stamp on his panels.

Gleaming. Chugging along in the same street
Where the madmen first dreamed
Silent as the dead machines.

The sadness of killing the foe and his joy in a setting
Of a cosmic age begetting him a sterile dimension

He had hated an enemy right to its timely demise
Only to experience a longing for liquid eyes.

No one looking down with judgement.
No one calling hollow threats.
AaNo one to resent or fight or love means there was no one left.

We are creatures of contact. To help or to harm.
Sometimes the enemy is close enough at night to keep us warm.




The lesson is this. That robot is all of us.
Product of grandfathers magic
Till we provided lust.

Lust gave in to isolation.
We are calling On your bluff. Ad
You are not mechanic and we all are capable of touch.

Shed your steel. Bite your tongue.
Wake up late. Stare the sun.
Embrace your weakness.
Yell and cry and sing and feel and kill your lungs.

Hatred leads to sorrow and regret is killing all of us.
So when I say give up. My only hopes that you all give up.