foundry

He liked the symmetry of the machine,

cartilage. Black well oiled joints,

yet. Clanking, clunking into a pre-determined slot.

Metallic grind crunching.

Sparks jazzing. Jumping.

Orange andS yellow.

Some move along the assembly lines

down along the wall with Swiss precision.

Moving and all grey ‘cept for the peacock plumage of the orange

metal yellow sparks metal against metal.

The beauty of the symmetry of precision of th

e machine

These machines have never seen the sunlight.

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2 comments

  1. multiplemichael

    I WAS READING THIS POEM AND ENJOYING HOW PERFECT IT WAS AND THEN I GOT TO THE LAST LINE AND “OMG” !!!
    “THESE MACHINES HAVE NEVER SEEN THE SUNLIGHT” IS BEYOND PERFECT.
    HARDCORE !!!

    Like

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