Sunday, December 04, 2005

Pittsburgh and awkward syntax.

The smokestacks contrast the green and rise like enormous grey fingers stretching into the sky. Into the clouds they point, into the skies of employment. A blue collared horizon welcomes every one of us. Beckons our contributions. Some come for the human wilderness, some come for the opportunity.

I came just for the view.

I came to smell the sweaty skin of America. To shake the grease stained hands that tear and toil and to remember them who built this iron machine. Spinning gears and twisting chains break and bend the backs of labor. Faceless parts to an autonomous machine.. The very stability we so often overlook and demote. We owe our lives to these parts, these instruments. Human oversights.

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