/ Poetry

The Machinist

All foundries and fact'ries will work overtime
To fire every ingot and further refine
To melt it and smelt it and make it all clean
I stopped up a delta to build a machine

My machines have seamless parts
A two-stroke engine gives them heart
Apart from me, they know no fear
Just burning bones and searing gears
Half-formed souls here
Are wed to metals
In a rust-proof kettle
Quick-set and leveled
And the best like cattle
Wait their cue in a line
Then a test of mettle
In a shower of lime
Arabesque embeveled
At the base of their spines
My reddened devils
Take their turn and take time
To purge the last man from the memory cache
By a logic bomb with the bio feedback
Then cold and calm take their place among ranks
Of golden rods and platinum planks
I play the odds
Probability: yes
I'll kill the gods
Pass a law against death
And entropy
Won't do a thing to me
My machine army
Will eat the heliosphere
And come back to me
Alpha Centauri?
That's a snack for tea
They'll eat GRBs
And still roar for more
Of that starry ore
Tasty accretion disks or
Mysteries we missed
My factories enlist
From the diesel pits

Takeshi Takahashi

Takeshi Takahashi

I'm a technical creative, teaching myself visual arts as I have the time and sharpening my writing when I have the will.

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