A Web of Auto Parts
Adol09
Detroit won’t build an axis,
beneath an iron frame,
for it hasn’t got the rubber
to support its only aim.
Once a man stocked fuel in his pocket,
He saddled it in a sinewed cloth,
his time beyond time was caged in one locket
about the size of a giant moth,
An aeon past he reached the door,
the locket’s address read ‘here’,
No response baded him forth,
but his destiny to enter was clear,
Blood and oil, web-dwellers and greed,
A worker must toil to set the spindler free.


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