The protrusion seen at anvil’s end
Strikes a hammer chord
of mystery
As to its actual realtime use.
Much as tiny notch in hatchet’s bladeside seems ill-construed a lever denailer, when standard hammers have for aeons included its famous forked crow’s-head hood for facilitation’s quick ease.
Or oversized red firetruck bells,
Spitshined into Christmas ornament resemblance, that brass seems like gold, as if agoin toa flami
house where sparks fly in dark past firelicked curtains that great brass globe metallic mirror is clanging hard to drown out
wailing nightgowned kids and the barks of sparkblind dogs.
The red engine’s side showing glimpse of disclike dials under glass, meters and silvery knobs none have touched or read for years, unfiddled as the coffinesque
viola case innards of dust encrusted velvet felt.
And undertaker’s predeliction for buttons without belt.

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