at a glance, ordinary.
it sits atop a hill
blades turning
things churning
and as it churns
it burns
setting the world on fire.
it spits out little packages
neatly wrapped
so pretty
and the members of the assembly line
pass the packages around
each adding little pieces
elaborating on the stories
trapped within.
he did this.
she said that.
so-and-so went out with them last night.
they seem safe, packed up tight
in their little shiny packages.
the ribbons will get worn though—
paper will be torn
contents spilled out
for all to see
because in the end
once you feed the mill
with anything
no matter how privately yours
it’s used up to pieces and
you’re never getting it back.
it’s public property now.