Orange bulb
Before ashen, crisp
Placed within a field of androids
Many, robotic, beeping
Oil dripping
But the orange bulb
And the fog of crisp ashen
Still fruit
From between the metallic roots
And the androids stamp and sway
Steel trees, a forest of wires
Reaching for black clouds and acid rain
Encased behind bolts and nuts
And strobe lights
A single android
Reaches down and picks up
The orange bulb with crisp ashen
And holds it for a moment within its lifeless hands
Before squeezing it
And the petals fall down
The last orange bulb burnt out
