Robot looks into the mirror:
Sees reflection, greenish blue
Hues, with a belly ripened
From some age and loss
Of the inner workings he used to abide.

Day by day,
That bot sits somewhere inside,
Trying to remember what made
Him tick, the honed refinement
Of a concentrated measure
Of the world for which he's made.

Factory life. Day starts early,
wades through monotony,
Ends in saturation and short circuit.
What once was a brilliant machine
Of golden glow is now a piece
Of metal, rust and mold,
Daring nothing, rattle bolt and
Sawdust resignation, optics,
Movement, throat.