lined in silver and draped in gold
sprinkled sunlight over twisted assembly lines
shale and ash and cold machines
indifferent and smiling
the light, slivered
by their blunt sharks' teeth
and a spark catches the blood-thick air
flares and festers and grows its own lungs
breathes in all the black, black passion
and coughs it all back up again
fire in the throne room, fire at the floodgates
smoke bubbles over,
trickles down
and one
stray
tendril
tempts the fates, sends the waves
pulsing blindly onward
screaming their hoarse throats raw
"Victory! Freedom! Anarchy!"
as they overcome the famished earth
swallowing every formless thought
seeping in through every careless crack
of the sleeping city's hull
and they'll all laugh together
as
the ship
sinks
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