This machine manufactures
the doodads which fit inside those
thingamajigs that interlock with these
whatchamacallits to get
the gizmos going.
The gizmos wake
the widgets that hammer these
doohickeys until those
thingamabobs spark this
machine into making more
doodads.
2 comments:
If this had a "like" button, I'd click it.
The structure of this poem feels like a rotating cog: a wonderful marriage of style and substance.
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