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Feb 2017
On metal wings the creature glides,
With metal feet it treads the skies.
Its joints sing out into the night,
Their velvet pads like shredded lies.
The starlight gleams upon its helm,
The silver turning warm yellow
Waves break over its shifting plate,
Deep sorrow softened by its glow.
Branches snap as it drops down,
Stories told about its strength.
Knuckles made of gleaming gold
Sleep reveals their dreamy length.
Cats look up into the sky,
As the automaton passes them by.
Malcolm Eaves
Written by
Malcolm Eaves
178
       Lior Gavra, Polar and Mouthpiece
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