Metal Birds

Forests in suits,
trees dressed in metal,
cities rising
like polished bark.

Civilizations
stripped of culture,
void of scent,
bereft of rose gardens.

Borders drawn in cold ink,
gestures measured,
souls twisted at the root.

Pages march in parallel rows,
meanings scribbled
on justice,
folded like a paper map.

Fangs beneath
painted smiles
on the whitewashed canvas of teeth.

The machine-howls of wilderness
echo down the sterile rails,
and factories cry at dawn
from the metal throats
of birds.