Android Mothers
I vote
no confidence that you will come through
on the master plan
there is a squirrel in your theory
gnawing at the logical wires.
Android mothers
all sing the same songs
that lull us to identical dreams
but the gaps in mine's code
give me nightmares.
I call
for a recount, you appear like water
under the door with a hurricane knocking.
Like a panic attack
my heart abondons me if you touch-
one touch-one strand of
the hairs on my head
with your metal fingers.
All my colors go pink and green
like ancient video tape ground
in the millstone of the vcr,
sunspots make the cable pixilate
the picture just juts off
the edge of the screen into flat cubes
and android mothers with their black
and white static eyes watch and whisper
in voices that sound like waves on the sand.
All this bickering and there's no sound reasoning or echoing
your arms wave like exotic birds in white enamel cages
mouths up and down like footage of oil derricks
sped up, flashbacks to the crude age
of petroleum filled motion.
I predict
a hung jury wrapped in deep swaths of purple cloth
the wire pistons of their arms holding
amebic offspring's soft pink flesh wrapped in titanium,
singing to all a lullaby,
an empty metallic rendering in their perfect digital time.