It’s the squeaking of the machinery
the arms and levers and wheels,
cables flexing while pulleys spin -
Trundling the sounds of metal and axles
and gears, the smell of hot oil and steam
escaping under the pressure of pistons
and pinions. Ideas aren’t as mechanical,
no. They are worse: the whole mess of
them sometimes humming like the
heart of a steamship, sometimes
seizing like the ailing organs
of a derelict riverboat.
You never know which you’ll get,
though, until you prime the thing
and fire it up. Then, as if the sum were
more than the parts, a magic explodes
across the page infused with tears and
laughter and hopes. Once the vessel
Is moving, for good or ill, it takes
you along for the ride.
