Since I am a writer, not an engineer, I made a poem about it. Here it is:
The page crawled with
Answers, lies, black ink ants,
Traitors, slipshod workers,
Little lucifers to algebraic god.
And so the sage built him
A cage of brass, of copper, steel.
Teeth, wires, bones grinding
The sacred music, smooth as oil,
Silent, pressing out a plaster image,
An ideal white perfect idol, the purest
From the helical swirl of levers.
Poetry, jealous, gave monkeys,
Roadsigns, vivisected cats.
Chronometers weighted down
The lilting lines and surveyors
Peered through their secret sights
And still the poet glared
At the infamous human errors
On the printed page.