Spastic Tango

[wasellajam]

Hi, James. As you have the original posted as the opener I read that first and prefer it. The poem read beautifully for me, the frustration with the current state of the world, the wild imagining of being something other than human, the recklessness of suicide by auto, the afterlife flight. I have no suggestions for you but will put down a few notes.

Spastic Tango

Driving the hard way
down the wrong shoulder,
up the hooded motorway,
gleeful texting as I go. Starts this off as no accident.
Drones droning to the left of me,
Sun boiling to the right,
chased by hate-filled robots
that want my job, my soul, my life. Ugh, 2026.

They scatter all in front of me,
pearls clutching to their chests, Gives the class difference.
but inside I grow tentacles,
wet appendages that slap a
beat against the glass.
Feathers, fur, nails, and scales,
a hybrid monster, a hippogriff.
that flails and pecks and bites. The wish for more power than a human has.

But nothing now can stop me,
nothing now can stop. The repeat expressed the loss of choice.
And as my speed increases -
I reach my apotheosis,
my destiny, my love.
Metal twisting fast around me,
embracing me, serrating me,
amputating me from my past. Satisfaction in the result.
Goodbye, you foreign country,
a tout a l'heure, you piece of shit,

With a terminal velocity,
a terminal escape, I like the double terminal, cause and effect.
I’m flying into the waiting Sun
into its open, shining maw.
We’re both spinning out of orbit,
dancing a fantastic, spastic tango, Lovely line.
two glittering monsters,
resolving now as one.




Maybe a bit clunky?  Or needs major surgery...



Spastic Tango v2

They’re driving the hard way
down the wrong shoulder,
up the hooded motorway,
gleeful filming as they go.
Drones droning to the left of them,
Sun boiling to the right,
chased by hate-filled robots
that want their jobs, their souls,
their life.

They scatter all in front of them,
pearls clutching to their chests,
but inside they grow tentacles,
wet appendages that slap a
beat against the glass.
Feathers, fur, nails, and scales,
hybrid monsters, hippogriffs,
that flail and peck and bite.

But nothing now can stop them,
nothing now can stop.
And as their speed increases -
They reach their apotheosis,
Their destiny, their love.
Metal twisting fast around them,
embracing them, serrating them,
amputating them from the past.
Goodbye, you foreign country,
a tout a l'heure, you piece of shit.

Thanks for the read.