Roll
I.
We got behind &
our plans changed
the day as much as it
changed us.
& this continues
all the while
the spin that
never stops
but speeds
& slows
& knows
not us.
II.
They say there is a music there,
up, that infants hear and first smile. Or gas,
that fills the void both up & down.
& at the center of things, a gush, a rush, a swirl.
III.
I built a bed
of pre-made
parts & holes
& screws
& will place
a rolling replica,
a universe that
moves & music
plays.
They say this
soothes &
helps us sleep
through that
gentle spin
that ever so slowly
speeds & shortens days.
We got behind &
our plans changed
the day as much as it
changed us.
& this continues
all the while
the spin that
never stops
but speeds
& slows
& knows
not us.
II.
They say there is a music there,
up, that infants hear and first smile. Or gas,
that fills the void both up & down.
& at the center of things, a gush, a rush, a swirl.
III.
I built a bed
of pre-made
parts & holes
& screws
& will place
a rolling replica,
a universe that
moves & music
plays.
They say this
soothes &
helps us sleep
through that
gentle spin
that ever so slowly
speeds & shortens days.
posted by W.C.P. at 1:49 PM
1 Comments:
Well, this poem chugs through to the land of the "working" for me simply because of the point of contact. I relate. I do like the mentionin of the "spheres". Wasn't it Plato? A view of the universe as layers of an onion? That portion coupled with Mary Grace's poem has me centered in the debates of the Enlightenment...Voltaire vs. Leibniz. Pope's "An Essay on Man"..."Whatever is, is right."
Thank you both.
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