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Petting a Robot Cat Demeans Us All

Matt Cox

The thing was terrible in the simplicity
of the idea, its blind eyes
forever pointing strangely forward,

reckless with destination, just like us
only a little weaker. I picked it up
by its head and it broke. This was not

a private revenge against cold action.
It didn't feel a thing. The audience
had just come in from the rain, draining

water from oxidized watch dials. They
had been optimistic; it's the same thing
each time they return. They formed

a committee to collect the remains.
I offered a handful of paperclips, a ball
of twine, a stick of gum freshly chewed.

Matt Cox

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