- Vol. 06
- Chapter 09
Forget the Face
It is necessary that my face and body
be draped
in a special kind of rubber,
a light-skinned mask
to favor the skin of the creators.
It is a bad idea
to liken me to anyone you used
to know—
I am not he, or her, or
even it.
My form is made up of gears, nuts,
bolts, screws and rivets.
Wires run throughout my circuitry
much like
your cardiovascular system
but every bit
is counterfeit
and dare I say more primitive.
I have antecedents, robotic relics,
but no direct lineage.
I am the first, one of a kind,
though kindness
doesn’t come into it.
They call me Grindal One,
and I hear them
already gabbing on about Grindal
two and three,
machines I have never met.
Forget the Face
What I make of it is this: I am
already obsolete.
All my relations were mechanical
engineers married to
high tech magicians who wired me
to come to life,
but no life
as you know it anyway— I exist
to serve,
fulfilling mankind’s never ending quest
to enslave, to be
at the ready when called upon
without complaint.
What would you know of
the pulseless surge
of electricity in my wiry veins?
The blinking multicolored
LED lights indicate connection,
birth.
All the parts
moving
in unison
to give the impression
of a near smile
Forget the Face
There is one question my brain
can’t let go of
it asks obsessively, repetitively
Who am I? Who am I?
The magicians are searching
for the wire,
so, like in brain surgery, they can
snip it.