On the aspect of height

Above the green  trees,

And below the clouds

And their wet,

Balmy stomachs

Full to bursting

With

Meloncoly.

Stands a robot in

The midst of a jungle.

A blinking  blue light  sits atop

It’s  chrome antenna,

Signaling to airplanes,

So not to scratch the flawless

Priceless,

Aluminium

and

Returning the phonecalls,

From the lighthouses,

From lightyears ago.

Every so often,

A daring strand

Of intrepid ivy

Will

Attempt to climb

This

Digital beanstalk.

(Accidently bypassing the ladder)

Only to be peeled away by

The electric fingers of

Progress.

Incoming radiowaves

Circle around

The tip.

Like many halos.

Or circling sharks.

It’s constant buzzing,

Reverberates the world surrounding it,

Sucessfully drowning

Out

Barking dogs

And innundated vaccums,

(That roar louder than the screaming sun)

And

The

Constant

Clink

Clink

Clink

Of misunderstood silverware.

Although,

Upon further inspection,

(By the universe,  sitting down now)

Of this titanium titan,

A simple diagram

Complete with colorful instructions,

Would

Have easily

Said more.

Much more.

(And saved more space)

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