Note: A dreamy sequence. Enjoy!

I

Conveyor belt,

Conveyor belts,
Convey things,
with no delay.

Conveyor belts convene,
For a convenience sale,
Beads of oil dripping the hardware,
Belts worn and shaved. 

Steel skeletons rip the sky into shreds,
While glass leaves everything naked.
In between a mall and a church,
A ride to Elysium approaches,
Not a thorn or a rogue in sight,
'Trust me, this will be absolutely painless', 
Says the driver jittery through his tenth coffee.

Eons have passed since,
Pilgrims tumbled, crumbled, and shed their old hides,
To win just the fraction of the ticket to this ride,
But a ticket lies on my lap,
40 % off it says,
So I take the seat,
Damn it! Who refuses such a deal?

Clamps trap with their silvery touch, 
Sliding on the mystery tracks,
Click and clack seldom, 
My bottom slides with every turn.

Out the hollow windows,
Myriad gods rush in to raid my skull,
Temptations run from panel to panel,
One with a dreamy lady giving life advice on a cream channel,
Another of an actor in an F1 drama selling pieces of himself,
Promises of freedom untainted,
All belts leave from here,
Not here, not never.
I have one to take.

Tracks divert and converge,
And suddenly all turn upwards,
Merging with the blue static.

"Elysium!", someone cries from underneath
 Above the clouds, air quivers with passion,
The sun in red hot fury spits heat rays,
"I gave you everything and this is what you made."

Rocks, brothers of hard shiny surfaces burn like paper in air,
Above the clouds, things never stay the same,
Lynch peeks from underneath the clouds,
"This is all..." and moves on like a ghost.

Skip.
....( dot dot dot)

Falls. Falls. Falls.
Upon a buffet,
Of infinite conveyors.

Here we are,
On the precipice of this crumbling body,
Laying roots of a metallic fungi, thick bridges that jump across the great seas,
Nary a hint in the Columbus' dreams,
Nary a hint of heart beats.

Under the remnants of an age old spell,
Churches celebrate the marriage of concrete and metal, 
Sub-terrain tunnels burrow this naked breast like worms,
This crawling sprawl,
A giant thumb print scrawled,
To print over the feats of the human-metal,
A queasy visitor invades the racing mind,
Stopping me dead in my tracks,
"This is my own body"
Laughter reverberates the gaps,
Thunders submerge the grinding cogs,
While I plunge into this mess.