ROBOTS
the engineers shrugged; no one knew
where the robot had acquired the
sword and it was troubling,
watching it hack
as the rockets on its fingers
sat unused, the atomizer dropped God
knows where-
when the dinosaur men
showed up, shrieking and smirking, pounding their muscular chests, brandishing their long black
forked tongues and loincloths, the robot, programmed to cleanse,
held them down and crushed the backs of their skulls, stepped on their feet and threw uppercuts-
during subsequent attacks,
the giant crabs, their oozing shells stove in, the cyclops, confused and
weeping, smashing through buildings, taking a knee to throw up, skull crushed with the hilt of the sword, in every case a battalion of tanks
and police cars tumbling uselessly underfoot-
it developed a propensity for posing, the robot,
foot propped on a corpse, fist thrust in the sky, grim set of the eyes- by then
we'd forgotten the promised miracle of chips, gears, oil, wires,
metal, pegs, axel, input, batteries, bolts- all of it drowned, fried
in a rain of blood- still, we held out hope of rectifying our mistake,
one way or another, stockpiling brains and weapons
until the day the robot floated into town
cradling the homunculus, tiny machine,
in its cupped hands. I have a message, it said.
I have only ever had one message.
I will repeat it one more time
where the robot had acquired the
sword and it was troubling,
watching it hack
as the rockets on its fingers
sat unused, the atomizer dropped God
knows where-
when the dinosaur men
showed up, shrieking and smirking, pounding their muscular chests, brandishing their long black
forked tongues and loincloths, the robot, programmed to cleanse,
held them down and crushed the backs of their skulls, stepped on their feet and threw uppercuts-
during subsequent attacks,
the giant crabs, their oozing shells stove in, the cyclops, confused and
weeping, smashing through buildings, taking a knee to throw up, skull crushed with the hilt of the sword, in every case a battalion of tanks
and police cars tumbling uselessly underfoot-
it developed a propensity for posing, the robot,
foot propped on a corpse, fist thrust in the sky, grim set of the eyes- by then
we'd forgotten the promised miracle of chips, gears, oil, wires,
metal, pegs, axel, input, batteries, bolts- all of it drowned, fried
in a rain of blood- still, we held out hope of rectifying our mistake,
one way or another, stockpiling brains and weapons
until the day the robot floated into town
cradling the homunculus, tiny machine,
in its cupped hands. I have a message, it said.
I have only ever had one message.
I will repeat it one more time
the eater
if there has ever been a place
in my heart for the eater
the heart is a brain
misshapen, lost.
at the supermarket
in my brain I am the greeter
and you wear a nametag, a red vest,
and you are the boss.
Together, we watch
the cottony tentacles of the storm
reach down to scrape the parking lot.
Swallowed in a drab gray ocean.
Soaking in one unbroken
January afternoon.
(this is simply the heart speaking, dressed as a brain)
eater of souls. of dice. of bones. we're side by side
when the eater washes over, dissolving
trains, the fish market, you
who never believe anything I say.
in my heart for the eater
the heart is a brain
misshapen, lost.
at the supermarket
in my brain I am the greeter
and you wear a nametag, a red vest,
and you are the boss.
Together, we watch
the cottony tentacles of the storm
reach down to scrape the parking lot.
Swallowed in a drab gray ocean.
Soaking in one unbroken
January afternoon.
(this is simply the heart speaking, dressed as a brain)
eater of souls. of dice. of bones. we're side by side
when the eater washes over, dissolving
trains, the fish market, you
who never believe anything I say.
At the moment, Adam Phillips makes his living teaching at-risk junior high kids how to read, write, and dominate on the hardwood (these are three separate things; the kids rarely read or write while playing basketball). When not thusly occupied, he's f**king s**t up old school on the beaches of Rockaway, Oregon, with his inimitable wife and two small sons. If you're interested, recent/impending publications include upstreet, Blotterature, Shark Pack Poetry Review, Raven Chronicles, and Blue Monday Review. His first novel is forthcoming from Propertius Press.
