Inside the machine a metallic unease
Of violence at rest like between thunderclaps
It’s a great white shark with teeth apart
Lair of the white worm of fire
In which metal sludge forms
Composed of sand grease and iron filings
Mostly it was a job for younger guys
Because you had to slip in slenderly
And crouch down midst the parts
Moving out half-buckets at best
I’d emerge dipped in vats of silver
More alloy than clay in my brilliance
Skin tingling with star points
And like a meteor hurtling home

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