Impregnation of the Barren Landscape

Fragmented bones unite
forming cryptic railways in a crimson field.
Asymmetrical smiles lead the way.
Strong men with weak souls work vigorously,
laying tracks just ahead of transonic trains.
Their perspiration falls
impregnating the barren landscape.
Gears turn laboriously,
pushing them on in time and in space.
They work until DEATH,
and shortly there after.
Then they retire to the molten core of the earth
where they are melted and recycled.
They follow the path of a poorly drawn circle,
again
and
again
and
again...

(image and poem=kevin clancy)