the machine chugs
a metronome of servos
moving just faster
than the eye can
hope to follow
small adjustments
as the paper flows
on into infinity
i stand bored
taking for granted
the ease and innovation
lost in daydreams
of her and the kids
gnawing at stories
thinking in metaphors
even i cannot
quite suss the meaning of

my mechanical heart
pulses in time
with this churning
feeling the swells
of temporal distractions
pulling me ever closer
to a six foot hole
feeling the ghosts
of my dead friends
watching in boredom
as i die a slow death
making the machines run
as i slowly decay


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