The Factory

© Charles E. Corry 1963, 1999

This is the hollow land, the naked land,

Where there are no men, and I, and others

Wander through the immensity of this machine,

Finding no where to fit in this

Dehumanization of our seeking selves.


This is the sad land, the tear-swept land,

Where our creations are only machines

Who dismember us and then disown us,

And no cogs fit, for all their striving,

The emptiness mates instead.


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