The Foundry

by themapofantarctica

 

In the space between internalisation and interaction

our worlds exist.

 

Vague yet decipherable; loaded with meaning both cryptic

and plain,

 

we hover our magnets above the metal filings and watch

as they tilt into drifts, unimaginable.

 

Somewhere the languages form and we are left

with nothing but our hands and useless mouths,

 

to melt down the scrap, and forge it

into something new.

 

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