The Rat Burrows, The Machine Spins

“In the heart of the machine beats the drum of oncoming traffic.”

On the shop floor:

Taxis as a tribe

Deal-brokers in a choke hold

Feeling your way through the crowd

Sitting pretty on a nest egg

Wires delineate a trick or two

Squeeze up to me for a nibble of cheese ‘n’ wine

The barred will wear golden cuffs

Clipped and slapped to the lord of the land

Fitted up with snap-bangles

In a vacuum no man is an island

Unless sucked into a conspiracy

Where you disbelieve yourself


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