The mechanical sound of
Steel gears are
Turning
They are turning
And churning us up
into little pieces of
malformation
They are grinding
The world down
Into human
Dust
lives snap like tiny twigs
against the
impossible
blue sky’s drip
with the reddest of red
blood
staining the
tree tops
the drones remove us from
the earth
like a raven
who is
pecking away at small ants
the gentleness of breath
has now become
a monumental
task
we have signed on
to run
the hate
machine
and we are tangled
in a broken system of
a misconstrued
democracy
looking for paychecks
that are printed on worthless
pieces of paper
the great buildings fall
and crumble into
dark alleyways
like paper Mache’
dolls
as the world spins off
its center
we are the catalyst
of the doom
machine
the manipulators of
death
with steel eyes
and cold plastic hearts
we have pulled the levers
of septicity
on ourselves
and cut our
own wrists with rusted
tin cans
disassembling everything
rearranging everything
killing everything
we have destroyed everything
like an insane child
let loose in a
toy store
and we leave nothing
to be inherited
because inheritance
is a lost word inside
a 20th century
dictionary..
- Ken Riccio original poems (c)
