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