Contraheavenly the synthetics rise,
Hardy scarabs defiant flies,
So poised against the sky's rebuke,
They teem with animating life,
Though they themselves sit hollow in their ranks.

Filling up my head with lead,
Rising just above my cheeks,
Under my eyes which bearing
Too much weight fall bagged down,

I thought it'd fall instead but
Nay, it rose again to Thee,
The temple of my skull encasing,
The temples whence I hear a cry:

Hold stalwart firmest walls upon,
The weathered mountain face beneath,
Grab buckets old and young men place,
The springs upon this ceaseless fire.

You shall not taste our hidden fields,
Our gardens make our bodies walls,
Watch on you foulest scourge and hear,
The water quenches fire but passion not!

Fold the files within themselves,
Line them up on digi-shelves,
Write things out on digi-notes,
Draw a box to tick in time,
Organise the space to rhyme,
Try to track the talking tasks,
They whisper deep in warmer days,
I wish to catch them,
And form a digi-house to store them,
Brick by brick for my own workflow.