There is a certain beauty in it.

The spider-web bridges across
a watery milk chocolate gateway,
churning rust water, as steel ships
glide through the slick like drones.

The metallic twists and turns of
silver pipes crisscross across
roadways and itself, creating
apocalyptic silver castles and causeways
of itself.

The fog and clouds caress
every visual body, a seductive clinging,
like a cheating spouse's tongue.

The hum and clang of forgotten
promises rumble the earth.
And we are afraid.

Perhaps it's not beauty,
maybe, an aesthetic:

Apocalyptic Industrialization