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Count them: 32 gears turning an apparatus with the clockwork

of Archimedes,

as if arms and legs
weren’t first made of marrow
or the cut of spurs and teeth
engendered no withdraw.

Clank-clank—the epicyclicclank
of drive pin and fence,
wheel flies and drive cam spindling.

A locksmith listens intent on combinations—

a supplicant
drunkard

whose pints of gibberish
before the barkeep translate each genuflection
of elbow and forearm into an out-and-out addiction with alignment;

Summons with a bit of wrist torque,
then click-clack restages the moon:

Mercury, Saturn,
Venus, Jupiter, & Mars soon
track.

As above, so below.
Marks the ascendant
star as an artifact
of some luminary tattletale;

who recalls the Greek before
(not after) its salt bath as little more than axioms:

oracle minus cog,
anti-utilitarian,
foster-child of Silence and slow Time;

now with a portent more
like fluid—like fish shifting on an always deepening diurnal tide.


First published in the November issue of decomP (2010)

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