A pile of rusting junk
stretched mangled arms into the clear
blue sky
I feel sick
Although I can't see, I know
that twisted former things
reach for me
I squint into the dark depths of broken arms -
each thing is beyond recognition,
a mess of had been achievements
Clouds drift slowly by
with the spinning of the world
This pile sits and sags with time
before being ground up into something new
just to lie here again
I shudder
And cross the street
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