it might work
the works ate them
and they loved the heat
in their bellies
they talked of men
for they were the men
who worked the works
in the melt
they moulded each other
in the smoke they believed
they went home
to houses above the works
and looked down
from the slag tops
their thoughts tumbled down
bottomless
it was
they thought
how heavy tomorrow is
yesterday underfoot
the horizon a brew steeping
sips is all we have
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