Machines Feeding Machines Into Machines

 

Vacuum-sealed and shipped

the butchers seperate your anatomy

with a steely grin

fat and flesh are arranged

in packs served to be economically friendly

 

Your blood is on my hands

and I can't feel my feet

as I wonder what it felt like, to

live a life to end in slaughter

 

You're reduced to 4-digit codes

 

Your parts are in the machine

 

Down the belt, your glistening loins

and bellies, and shoulders

gristle down the center

fat to the left

 

A tight plastic place so you won't spoil

up the cylinders

 

Stamp your tag

 

You're on sale this week

down the ramp, back in my hands

 

I put you on a rack

 

and do it again

Reviews

[mope]

Delightfully gruesome and seriously cynical. I love it.