The vacant structure
gazes over the tracks.

Is it a cruel fate
that the flow of life
and steel
are but yards from
its stagnant decaying position?

Does it mourn for
the company
save for vagrants and squirrels?

Perhaps it will be reborn
in new form,
cold,
metallic,
digital,
the shape of earth in
post-alchemical Industria.


The digital hand touches
the digital window of
the digital tube.

The digital eye sheds
a digital tear down
its digital cheek in
yearning for analog
warmth like its dreams.