Nevermind Nirvana or Burning Lavender, a guided remix
The robot is so happy.
After the kiss, the greasy feel of Brylcreem,
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,
the taste of Rothman’s King-size large
as tongue enters mouth.
The robot runs.
The robot’s mother reflects a luminous standard of bloom
to sell this robot a mind to get away when the lights are out.
When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen:
The robot has found her friends
due to their immense distance from memory. |
The robot is so ugly, but that’s ok.
There are trees the robot doesn’t remember.
The robot is afraid, afraid of proper names.
The robot cuts her hair.
The robot flaunts her
sexuality.
The robot breaks the mirror.
Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so?
The robot is so lonely but that’s ok.
The robot uprooted a god.
Hey, hey hey.
The robot sings along.
Her star catalogues identify others.
'Twas mine own heart, dilly dilly,
that told me so.
The robot includes Sunday morning,
outside her original galaxy,
invisible to the most powerful.
The robot couldn’t name a flower.
Come, my darlings,
as a figment of the broken shards,
as an old memoria.
For at least a portion of your life,
you shine. Hello!
Take a rest, Perfect styling!
The robot is not scared.
Hello, hello, face.
The robot wears excessive and
dramatic makeup
as pretty songs.
The robot is so lonely and
other properties of a carefree vibe.
At the shopping mall,
the robot doesn’t remember
who found her and took her home.
Call up your men, dilly dilly,
set them to work.
Clothing and the robot is to blame,
found it hard, it's not what it means.
Hello, the plot of seduction,
even if the robot disappears, her body
is also determined by society’s rules.
The robot feels stupid, was expected to be tall
and thin and the robot doesn’t care.
The choice produces a plot known as denial!
A corset, a well known symbol of gravitational collapse
of the illusion.
Some with a rake, dilly dilly,
some with a fork.
The robot doesn’t mind
the emotional aspects,
her pretty stellar core.
Hello, hello, hello,
expect to be confident,
understand lower moods.
The dry lavender the robot burns
catches fire. Spring is not sad
and likes to sing along contagious.
Some to make hay, dilly dilly,
some to thresh corn, the robot wants
the acrid smell, the scent of memory
burnt up, not dissimilar to whiskey.
Here we have all places.
It is acceptable for us to be
dangerous. Entertain us.
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,
keep ourselves warm. We can build
nuclear fusion, and we like ugly,
We've broken our pretty pressure.
The flame grows high.
the robot watches.
Lavender's green, Dilly dilly,
Lavender's blue.
The robot’s not gonna crack when tears
are exhausted.[2]
If you love me, Dilly dilly,
I will love you.
The robot waits until the flame
is almost out of control,
then smothers it.
Amanda Earl is a Canadian polyamorous poetesse and fiction writer, editor, publisher and visual poet. She’s the managing editor of Bywords.ca and the fallen angel of AngelHousePress. Her goals are whimsy, creation and exploration. More info can be found at AmandaEarl.com. Twitter: @KikiFolle.