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The Illuminating Pattern

The people
winding the valves are really
wound themselves.
Within them, progenitors
reside like
ons and offs to a current
so refined.

Organics,
all the same,
kin to the fractal within.

Lights flicker,
a greater system exposed
similar.
Fumes sighted, fuel is assumed
depleting
views of bothersome images
big and small.

Theatrical,
the props real,
the big picture no big deal.

There whistles
a factory of many,
so litten
having people of many,
all wound stars,
a single incandescent.





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