check the typesetting
hollered over the shoulder
covered by a dungaree strap
format the words to fit
the form (it’s all just form,
mumbled under breath)
faces covered with
dewey sweat/intellectual: dirt
strike the template
and get a new one
stop the press while yer
at it b/c it’s obsolete
no access to new technology
she told me today that she’s afraid of the bugs they wear on their ears
do they even know what they look like?
like the shell described in a bradbury book
we were all made to read as children
factory workers are fine
tuned robotics, sleek
sex ambiguous giving him
a hard(on) like only a well
oiled machine can
metal arms gyrating
shiny parts/mechanical: clean
staring past the factory
denizens from an observation window
excitement pupils large
(now yer talkin w/o
thinkin, writin with no soul)
she mused that maybe they would be embedded in us from birth someday
like we wouldn’t have a choice to join them
we are transfused with ones and zeros just as platelets
and the count is definitely down
photo from euthman’s flickr
