Climax

Rusty steel maidens enter the scene
To spill smoldering metal in molds to the brim
And shape bones out of beams with magnificent sheen;
A perfect reflection of the Great Mother’s dream.

Out of thick mist, in orderly streams
March mannequins made by man-made machines,
Cold to the core, with meat masking the seams,
And empty white eyes shining murderous gleams.