BLADE RUM [NOIR POETRY 365]

[BLADE RUM]

september glares again

heat melting shadows 

[one last time it seems]

I open your black box 

find nothing inside it

but odd death rattles

fingerprints 

the machine 

left behind 

illusions finally 

broken under 

autumn's eye

synthetic 

toads electric 

sheep & poetry 

rot may die

someday 

no idea

truth seldom offers

warm consolation

no rain either 

[not this time]

. . .

Blade Runner Blues · Vangelis

. . .

"Crestfallen, he gazed mutely at the false animal; he took it back from her, fiddled with the legs as if baffled – he did not seem quite to understand. He then carefully replaced it in its box."

– Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?