On the wide factory floor, the shiny floor
not scuffed by shuffling feet,
a metal arm stands – bolted.
For all its permanency
and never-ending action, the robot arm
conveys a sadness with the state of affairs.
And it dreams of entropy … .. . .
an energy to take hold of the small particles;
to rearrange them, spinning
in a somewhat different formation.
This could have been: cambium cells fed by hormones,
made by leaf buds,
passed down through the inner bark;
which then slowly gives up feeding and turns to protection.
It builds and builds and protects.
What do robot arms build?
It’s a different kind of forest.
Counting electrons and protons,
one – two – tree
Could it still be?
Tender Rebellion 
Leave a Reply