- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Machine God
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He rose from the great fire
that consumed all the old gods,
or at least turned them to his gasoline
His feet are made of blood-red iron
with toe-nails of money
His legs are of the coldest steel:
his knee moves on a robotic wheel
His arms and torso are of silicon
and speed info to a million pawns:
moving them with monies, ideologies, and "moralities"
His horns are holographic: many-colored,
neon, and thick
His brain came from living men:
maybe five, maybe ten,
and was engineered to be brilliant and sane,
to torpedoe through every day,
to always wax and never wane
And he says: "Be a team-player;
be efficient; FIT IN"
And with much bowing, submission,
and veneration,
they all repeat this mantra
that their ancestors taught him
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