I am your shining windows
I am your tall, brick walls
I am your rail-ways and
train engines
I am your conveyer belts
I am your stock parts
I am your young line boys
I am your cigar-smoking,
fat-cat bosses
I am your Ford automobiles
and Technicolor TV’s
I am your idea of
perfection

I am your broken windows
I am your toppling, mortar walls
I am your rusted rail-ways and
broken-down locomotives
I am your robotic arms
I am your lead paint
I am your Chinese labor
I am your *******-sniffing,
thrid-world-oppressing bossess,
I am your Toyota cars
and LG televisions,
I am your idea of
perfection

I am the old and the new
I am the sights that roll past
my rolled-up windows
I am the city and the suburbs
I am the quietly dying
I am the voiceless mind and
its cries for help
I am the future and
the past
I am the dream
I am the death of
the dream
I am your idea of perfection
and also,
your nightmare
of an
idea