I am nothing special…

I am a cookie cutter man.

Passed out on the factory conveyor belt…

I ride past sterile walls.

 

It’s only me along with an infant-ry

of faceless and forlorn

of sexless and still

peacefully riding to the ovens

on this never-ending road.

 

Machine music comatose

A twist of events… turn up the temperature

To an even, dry heat.

We’ll be burnt to perfection.

 

Here we are… cracked and charred.

A klatch of commoners

With nothing to guide us

But the mechanism

Of narcissism.