Industrial Revolution


Hey Mac, (this from the fridge, a Westinghouse,

As I walked past), in some forgotten life,

A stinking greenish scum is all you were,

But I, a diamond, Hope’s the name I bore,

That’s bullcrap, I replied, and grabbed a beer,

The Hope exists; mere rust and clay you were,

That ain’t the way this works, it snapped, acer-

Bically, full anything you could become:


A frog, some smog, a piece of crispy toast,

For me, more like, an eagle soaring high

Above a cowering rabbit you, my lunch,

You’re destined to be scrapped, you hunk of tin,

I snarled; just then my wife exclaimed, Oh God!

You’re off your freaking meds again? Get help!