Chicken Factory

The cold look of your religion. The dust from a hundred years ago suddenly sucked into the vacuum of your eyes. Killing insects all night. Gathering gloom. Tornadoes spin like militias across the desert landscape. The ravages of time a spike in the brain. Reels and reels of nonsense the machine kept spitting out at us. I’ve been weaving them into a suit. I think I will wear them to work. I lost my job at the chicken factory. I can still hear them calling.