The Machine is My Mother

Spawned of the gearbox, foul mesh of metal
Rusted sprockets, leaking faucets,
And the shrill ring of the kettle

Tromp down the hallway of average achievements
Wake up, move along, rinse your hair with a liquid song
Chewing a foul mix of caffeine and mint

Cog'ged legs harshly scrape to a halt
Body twixt the gears, nothing left to fear
Mortal flesh gives way to the cold iron assault

If the throat paused and harkened to emotion
See it in the eyes, a scream would rise
From the tears long since lost in the ocean

Coasting on the coast of a kinaesthetic theatre
Unable to reject, negligible effect
The most noble, epitomal repeater