His eyes remind me of a summers day

Cliche, I know, but his lips numb my brain

They’re red like strawberries,

The ones we used to pick

Before you moved to the city

And found some new chick

Now you work like a machine

Suit is stiff, your armour’s clean

New York pumps out faceless bots

Your CPU can run non-stop

Your battery’s at peak electromotive force

Your dreams are saved up in a cloud source

I...

Strawberries, sweet and red

Robots, cold steel instead

What two different things

How can two collide?

Just like real life, how can two different people collide?

Strawberries, a tase of sun

Robots, with gears that gleam

I ask again

Yet worlds apart, it seems

An unexpected bond redeems...

Red flesh, sweet fruit, fresh blood.

Dead man, low patch, disarmed guard.

Expensive jewels, garden tools, steel arm.

Broken glass, pulsing light, a bit tart.

Picked like berries, burlap sack, loud alarm.

They’re running my way, fleeing the chase, their pounding hearts.

Squeezed juice, bullets shoot, flavors sharp.

Activate infrared, mapped threats, pattern of achenes.

Finalize scan, ripe ...

As the alarm rings — I see it is six,

In shower I sing, then my hair I fix.

Off to the factory, to labour away,

Making the inventory, day after day.

The strawberries ride, along conveyor belt,

I push some aside, for too soft they felt.

I clock out at five, drive back to my home,

Just trying to survive, settle down with a tome.

One day I walk in and I see the note,

It feels like a fork in the rid...

I’m a bot made of strawberries, fighting crime

My berries activate, systems come online

When an evil robot’s on the run

I just pound him with my seed gun

Until the robo miscreant’s serves jail time

I’m on the trail, tired juicy servos whine

Part technological

Still biological

Against this avocado foe I’ll be fine

Oh no, my seed gun sight’s misaligned

The enemy’s seed nicks my skin

My juice trips t...

Strawberry field

Life’s unreal

Living machines

Nightmare dream

Stark reality

Dim banality

Robot cops

Laughing stock

Beatles song

Forever gone

Where did it go

Lost in the snow

Gone

Wrong...

Soon, we will not bend

our backs to pick strawberries,

robots will instead...

Do the strawberry fields become sickened

When the robots join in the fun

Does their sweet scent of berry

Become overwhelmed by a sterile one

Does the cold metal run across the soft dirt

Two objects not seeming to meet

Does the pink strawberry juice

Get crushed under a robots feet

Woven baskets become a bore

A job to humankind

But for the berries it was their world

Their home and lifeline

Now t...

The belts turn with a rumbling as the strawberries move swiftly on from the field, a team of twenty robots making swift work of the picking.

But why?

Because the children don’t want to pick their own anymore. They grow them in seconds on their screens.

Because parents don’t want to drive to the country anymore.

Because farmers couldn’t afford to live anymore and were replaced by the new moguls...

Wear that dress.

That dress with those little strawberries.

Red like your blush.

Red like your blood.

So warm, so warm.

Sunkissed like the strawberry fields we know so well.

Your skin is cool, your flesh hard.

Not as hard as it is to fuck you.

It’s cold, metallic pitter patters as I remember that change and change you wanted.

Why?

Why must I have to feel this body of yours that...