Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I must be overheating, cause my air tubes are filled with steam. My movement cogs are rattling, awkwardly, clashing joints screech. There is combustion in the oiled pits, which catch fire all to quick, and boils stomach grease and releases gassy silage. The gas seeps out the crevices and pollutes the wholesome air. Poison in and out, hot smog--a warning sign. I must be overheating, as a mechanic rushes toward me. He wets me with his coolant, and cools me with his sweat.
0
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
Lubricated Man
I must be overheating, cause my air tubes are filled with steam. My movement cogs are rattling, awkwardly, clashing joints screech. There is combustion in the oiled pits, which catch fire all to quick, and boils stomach grease and releases gassy silage. The gas seeps out the crevices and pollutes the wholesome air. Poison in and out, hot smog--a warning sign. I must be overheating, as a mechanic rushes toward me. He wets me with his coolant, and cools me with his sweat.
David-Saunders
Written by
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem