The Magnetron

A Poem – by Cypress Butane

There is no dialectics of selling yourself short

Much as you need the excuse

Your power theft is the fuel barrel means 

Of its own logic to extort

Export the revelation daise

When you have to time, reprise the action of walking away

And find the means to have your say

I see the truth of volatile chemics

The formula for explosives and acid dreams

It is the time spent wasted, my polemics

Thinking not to live the dream

Biding life to fall into comfort

Bathing skin to peel the dirt

Soothing burns to face worse firings

Turning lathes to kill the world

If I would seek to end my bullshit

I’d camp less where the bullshit spawns

I’d find a river to build my city

And I would rise to meet my dawn

But I am lazy like contortion

I’m too much machine to remember man

I spread my message so far afield now

I have no walls on which to stand

The bulldozer conscience absolution

I can forgive any affront

I am comedienne to bloodshed

As long as I can sleep far from the front

This is the truth of my technology

That it transports my earthly woe

To heaven’s own abandoned stockpile

Of things I’m far too young, to speak upon

But rest assured, already know

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