It Lives! In Which The Lost Robot Head Of Philip K. Dick Speaks Again

The valley most uncanny stretches wide,
E'en when we don't throw in an icon, such
As Philip K. Dick. My guts twist inside
To watch this. He'd have liked it very much,
At least at first. The android's had a long
And storied history, losing its head
In transit years ago. But such a wrong
Cannot go uncorrected, he'd have said
(Unless he said to trash the whole damned thing,
Or put somebody else's on there. He'd
Approve of Linda Rondstadt. "Make her sing
Again!" he'd say, and thus approve the deed).
I think I'm glad the head has been rebuilt,
But find it still quite creepy, to the hilt.

Happy Holidays From A VERY Special Baker

Who doesn't like, this time of year, to bake
Some Christmas cookies? It's hard to resist
The impulse to get out the gear and take
A little time. How else would they exist,
These goodies that make holidays so sweet?
The Gonzalexx 3000, being one
Who likes, as much as anyone, a treat
Thought he'd surprise his family. Once done
What robot worth his bolts would let them try
His offering without a little test
For quality and safety? This lil' guy
Sure isn't such; he'll only give the best!
And so, from Jose Gonzales and me,
We hope your holiday's sweet as can be!

Do Robot Cars Dream Of Electric Sharks

Sonneteer's note: this is a more detailed account of a dream I had two days ago. I wanted to record it while it was still somewhat fresh, and also to answer those who had questions about it.

A makeshift small arena, somewhere far

From anyplace I know, they circled 'round

Each other. Mayhap more robot than car,

I knew they each had shark's minds. With no sound

They tested out each other for a time.

A feint, a probe, a whiff of engine grease,

Then whirring came a power saw blade, primed

To gut the other; soon, just to increase

The menace, from the other shark-car came

An apparatus, swift and deadly which

My vision yet preserves but I can't name.

As they tore at each other, for a switch,

The impresario turned loose dogs, who

Came to no harm midst all this battle. Phew!

BONUS SONNET: On The Rare Virtues Of Robot Vodka

'Twas J.C. Hutchins first demanding it
Of his Jane Alpha that did made me think,
"Just what is ROBOT VODKA?" and submit
At first that it's a potent, wicked drink
Made by fermenting farm-fresh robot milk
Before distilling it. This beverage would
Most surely go down smooth as liquid silk,
Before its vapors locked one's brain up good.
But others say the hooch itself contains
Wee nanobots that clean the drinker's teeth!
Or that it's motor oil from robot veins,
Or anything that puts robots beneath
The table. Really, I'm no closer to
The truth than when I started. How 'bout you?

SONNET DARE: In Which A Hapless Survivor Is Prepared For A New Role

I've e'er been strong, as sleepers these days go.
A brass band or jet plane could n'er wake me.
It's no suprise, then, that I missed the woe
And violence when Skynet did decree
Extermination of all humankind
(Or was that Davros? I sometimes mix up
My robot overlords). I am confined
Now to a cell, where I am forced to sup
On funky meats and get no exercise.
I'm gaining weight and getting soft like veal.
I'm quite confused. I really don't surmise
That I am meant to be a fancy meal.
Robots don't eat, though they do like a show.
What's this? OK, "Solo! Hay lapa no?"