At the centre
A vast hub of solid gold
With a thousand diamond and platinum inlays
All gleaming to the glory of the wheel
Out of it, a million interlacing spokes reach out into the world
Shining still, near the centre
But as they loop further out
The dirt starts to stick
From the wheel that grinds
Keeping the hub from the ground
And by the edge, deep engrained
Blood and shit and sweat and sick
And the ever fragmenting framework
That will one day
Collapse
Kenn Taylor 