meta-narrative: aging youth

grease in the wheels
adds
traction greased
wheels taste like
what I imagine grain
tasted like in the bronze age

that grimy collection

spinning in geared revolutions

a turn of the crank
spins the world

and grease drips off my arms
thick ambered smells staining skin
turns white skin into leather

where was I when the faucet broke
leaving a steady stream of drips?
"one must learn not to waste"
(I heard that somewhere,
I think)

it smells so dark
like a migrant olive tree
singing strange Hebrew songs
a little off key
stretching rhythms

remember when we planted it
not so long ago?
(we were just kids)

she's outgrown us -- (oh!) you know who!
the size of the world is an inverse property
to the number of hands spinning away
in some fantastic dance casting
spells in dervish frenzy!

(mind you,
we are not dreaming...

that would be redundant) whoever
thought I could feel so old