Error code: PXZ003-2-b:
"WAIT"
Blinking blindly,
unaware of absurd metaphysics,
the device flashes its advice.
For years now, probably; no one's sure.
The rest of the machinery's in pieces;
save this one brilliant gem of advice,
slowly sipping energy through
a dingy solar panel:
just enough to keep going
A red light blips
on the untended prophet,
yellow caution tape draping
impotently in shreds --
*although there is an allure
to what fabrics conceal.*
He sees none of this.
At first.
He arrives in a huff,
swearing and panting.
Pacing nervously, he lights
a spliff and throws his head back.
"I know I haven't been around much,"
he speaks in a vaguely upward direction,
"but some people say you're listening,
and that you take requests."
He laughs, flicks some ash,
and lets a sigh creep out.
"Just. Just. Fuck it, I don't know.
Give me a sign, anything. I'll listen."
He inhales and snuffs the roach
on his sole.
The serenity of stillness marches
in as a pallbearer with an empty casket.
A red light catches his
peripherals.
He walks to the device,
removes the dress,
and uncovers divinity.
How could he deny the voice of fate?
He waits.