Friday, August 28, 2009


Electric motorcade
Tell me why I
Tick, tick, tick
Like some gawdaweful machine.

And who am I ticking for?
Who has my time?
Who buys my life?
I sweat in this rancid heat -
The heat of sweat and
Machine oiled together
Into something

Tell me who brushed my lips
With those burning dry kisses
That make them crack and bleed?
Who cripples me?
So that I hobble about
Like an ancient thing
Begging to be
Put out of service.

So replace me
With the
New, new, new,
Til I am shinny
And in that tip top shape.
Smelling of a just bought car.
Well oiled to preform again
Til you ache to
Push and Pound
And drill,
Slam me shut
Beyond repairability
I will run as long as you want me.

Then stop.
And discard.
Leave me
But with the dignity
( i am already empty)
Remember to hang the
"Out of Service"
Sign around my neck.

I will tick for no one.

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