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Give me not speed nor certainty

The tale of the last days before the great robot war

the sky glowed grayish pink, and the city rumbled
27 August 1982
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A sonnet by Jay Thompson:

Head resting on the bars of his tandem bike,
hands in his kilt pockets, cold breath
bubbling out of him. Motionless.
“I don’t know, it’s like every week someone’s
in the hotseat to give bad advice, someone’s
turn to listen.” Inside a bottle breaks;
a piano. And I, misunderstanding:
“Sometimes I think no one here has any power
over anyone else.” Turns his head—
“The last time I thought that somebody kissed me.
Best unironic kiss ever. Would it
kill her to admit it?” Someone yells
and pounds someone else’s carhood. Surveying
the wreckage: “Jesus Christ. People are krill.”