Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

I, Robot

I grin in pain as wiring’s askew
if I only knew how to
fix all electronic circuits,
or to mold and shape the mental clay,
clean the rust amassing in my insides…

Since I’m a futuristic feat,
precision programmed,
drawn in perspective,
why can’t I cry the human tears
fear the fears, taste their wine?

Why do I have nothing subjective
a wish to fly, a love to seek, a dread of death?
A system failure, is it?
At least, while my focus slips, don’t turn me off
until I find out how to dream.

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Prompt: uncanny valley (Google it!) (and/or interpret phrase any way you want!)