Progress is a never-ending
line of cars
Stretching down a super highway.
Progress is an empty home-
Mom and Dad in separate
cars
Seeking scattered kids,
Who will separate, every
one,
When all are in the house.
Progress is a yard of
grass and shrub
Which bear no fruit, while
the fact’ry farm
Abounds in monstrous weeds
and bugs.
Progress is the joy of
being a drone
In the high-tech hive of
soul-mangling corporations.
Progress is the magic
skill of mass production-
The victory of boring
uniformity.
Progress is the privilege
of becoming
An unwitting sacrifice to
satanic powers
Through the working of
Western social theory,
And the money masters and amusement
makers.
Progress is a megachurch
Filled with shoppers eager
for the latest fare
From focus-group
Christianity.
Progress is a gnawing worm
feeding on our guts and souls.
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