The Place Where The Gearteeth Grind

[swilow]

The Place Where The Gearteeth Grind

Wooden cyborgs;
sound steps of nowhere-
gone back forever-
listlessly whispering.
Only a head-stafe
(made out of shattered stars),
sentience/soul-lessness-
irreparably known.

Not needed to see though
another mask in the window,
whilst behind the masking
is a perfect abyss.
A trick from the jester's jibes
distort to resonate,
In the place where the teeth grind
the thought-snaring Machine.​

This poem is best read whilst doing a robot dance....

 

[Sziontist]

you write interesting words

 

[RareForm]

i followed your instructions and robot-ed while reading this, i also decided to grind my teeth.
very good writings.