That old thing? It’s garbage!
Worn beyond repair.
There’s pieces missing.
It just don’t work.
Besides, it’s ugly as hell.
It ain’t worth the effort
to give it away.
Lord knows it’ll sure never sell!
So there it sat
rusting and rotten,
a refuge for rats,
forgotten.
And that’s the way that I found it,
buried in decades of leaves,
gone over to rot and decay.
So, what permission, I seized it
and happily hauled it away.
I see some beauty
in worm eaten woodwork
patina’d by years of sunlight,
lichen, leaf mold, and rain.
And in its metal remains
weathered beneath
the rust revealing
a roadmap of courage and pain
etched deeply into each surface
glazed over with alchemical stain.
Yes, It’s beyond restoration.
It will never be as it was;
but that doesn’t mean it is worthless.
Together with other detritus,
we will construct common cause.
Designing therefrom
some homunculus,
fitting a whole new function
denying original form.
Aroil in Pain 