[UnbornBuddha]

There’s nothing left of me,
My ancestral tree festers.
I’ve segregated my memories
Into the natural and the polyester.
I remember not being free,
But, having boundless cotton field ecstasy,
Fields of energy which are now vacant.
I miss the anarchy of being a thing!!
All I am now is hours averaged into a paycheck.

My tongue is coated in Bio-fuel,
As we reference machinery in our proverbs
All for the sake of creating more trousers,
And other fine materials you can buy off us.
We’ve suffered in the past
But, never had industrial chemicals to comfort us.
Steam powered machines that fly upward
Into the heart of clouds, gaseous sulfur.
As we touch them, the sky begins to rain smog
Releasing the cadmium, hence our brain fog.
Quick, dispense the quicksilver to counteract it!
Mercury’s derivatives keep the doctor away.

This week,
The machines spat out a child’s arm;
The protocol was to scold him and give him a bad mark.
If, I complain, I’ll be fired,
And my cotton field brethren will starve.
Yes, the plantations enslaved me
But, at least I still had my being.
All I am now is a cog stuck in the machine.