these machines uproot and this dark bile covers my path
sticky and viscous
a flattening of earth and the sweat soaked
men stand aside in the heat
human fodder for a murdering way all things
made useful all things
made normal
men are numbers, statistics, figurines
these are no paths for feet these
are paths for wheeled monsters and
machines that dig
and flatten and tear
and then a patch
of grass and a little
bird
remnants of an old earth
I see the roots of
millennia briefly
through the poisonous
asphalt vapors
