WHAT MAKES THE MAKERS MAKERS
— Poetry — 1 min read
The automated automotive machines move metal.
A boy alone on a beach buildscastles, but the water washes
away their foundation every day
Leaving my car I mosey about the
shore near my new neighborhood:
a beach, a boat, a band of treasure
hunters searching for a retirement
fund, precious metals lost to men
paid their health to move my furniture.
The automated automotivemachines move metal.
I’ve seen defeat in the morning,
the look in the boy’s eyes during the sun-
rise as he sets out to build his
fortress
again and again and again
and again, automated automotive
machines move metal every
day, but for those nomads
living in the sand, for thosecreatures crawling in the sand,
this boy moves the world.