The industrial work "assembly line"

“Assembly Line” by Shu Ting

In time’s assembly line

Night presses against night.

We come off the factory night-shift

In line as we march towards home.

Over our heads in a row

The assembly line of stars

Stretches across the sky.

Beside us, little trees

Stand numb in assembly lines.

The stars must be exhausted

After thousands of years

Of journeys which never change.

The little trees are all sick,

Choked on smog and monotony,

Stripped of their color and shape.

It’s not hard to feel for them;

We share the same tempo and rhythm.

Yes, I’m numb to my own existence

As if, like the trees and stars

--perhaps just out of habit

--perhaps just out of sorrow,

I’m unable to show concern

For my own manufactured fate.