I am faceless in my uniformity
I am a cog
I am replaceable but my position is not
I am forgettable but my position is not
I am unimportant but my position is not
I am the meeting of two planes of
Brushed brass
Bringing order out of chaos
And chaos comes from order
For it is inescapable
I am a cog
Machine-pressed to fit a form
Formed to fall into place
And wrap around your wrist
Tick-tock, tick-tock
I am counting away the seconds
We have together and I
I am a cog
Faceless in my uniformity. . .