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Carbon
by Jared OrlandoThese hands are not mine
Passed down from factory to
Factory; they are on lease
Undeserving of these misshapen
Legs that carry me through
A rented world, all tagged up
Boxed and ready to be shipped
All based on pure function-
Mechanics, conveyor belts
This misconstrued crux
This "brand new world"
Through dusty spy glasses
Everything "seems" corrected
Here, everything is on dollies,
Thrown together with used glue
Pieces and parts and segments
With the only whole being
A name you call this island of
Misfit; this orphaned concoction
Where love is a byproduct of carbon
And feeling is a chink in the system
06/22/2012 Posted on 06/22/2012
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 06/22/12 at 01:01 PM Very well done Jared. Just think, one day this island and all its inhabitants will return to the factory. Will it be closed by then or will it renew us in a form that can survive without hate. |
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