Yet another mechanical poem

If you are wondering, yes I do have a fascination with things mechanical (although I have virtually no knowledge or experience in the area) and have several poems on the more philosophical side of machines, and which I have made an effort to explore in my writing recently. So expect to see more in this vein in coming weeks. Enjoy!
Wired

Electric connections hold us together,

I've got my own animatronic birds of a feather,

We're past the point of now or never,

now it's nevermore.

Like a bird made of wires, it all comes together in an engineer's mind, an artificial world of perfect clockwork, always ticking, never talking, mocking all the real things that never rust.

Combust, all the metal in the world will melt, and the heat will be felt by the sun, the son, the one, and still the engine never stops moving in slow-motion towards the furnace of failed attempts at steel immortality.

Free, from all those pesky things like breathing and blood and body and mind, mine, mining the depths of the very surface of a home sweet home on the ranging from cities made to build themselves, to a clockwork mosquito that steals the iron from your blood.

Flood, of liquid gold shining like the fires of Hell in a hall of mirrors, reflections of reflections of a world that could be drowned in steel, steal, stolen the dollar signs from our eyes, used them to build an empty room with walls lined with lead so the sound of the silence of all the things once alive can't leave.

Believe, in something more than life itself, a land of barely remembered ideas in the engineers scrapbook, where lizards lay in wait for their gears to rust, for all the creators in every holy book to come down with screwdrivers and make them again, men, sending spears of misinformation in formation flowing through the veins of an automatic homeless man with a tin cup,and a sign saying:

fix me.