Drone
I speak a simple tongue
direct and to the point
I have no second thoughts
cluttered with misgivings
I don't mince words
I come from clouds
under a flag of state
I hunt outside the natural order
as cold and heartless as a hawk
but without its natural exculpation
I bring regal retribution:
a creator of corpses, I am
the Count of Capacitors
the Lord of Algorithms is my muse
I have no empathic circuits
nor do my masters
Mathematics only guides my moves
Precise and incendiary is my passion
I'm your envoy
your political assassin
Send me whenever you must
dispatch your current devil
I am yours —your
techno-cudgel
.
by Jim Culleny,
7/19/12