Turn The Wheel

Turn the wheel hand over hand sunlight
between too much thinking and reverse
or three point turn pointing me faced
due east October low horizon offering

to the sun the sun through windmill
blades a turning cutting spinning
that's usefully collecting electricity
Dear Ben Franklin look how far we've come

would you be reeling with it the myriad
signs of our enterprise I for one have lost
my way in this storm of strings and power
hearing someone cough in a performance

playing over the radio number 89.7 FM
is reassuring moved imperceptibly from
annoying I may be in the driver's seat
but the wind outside plays a strident note

all the way from Ozymandias to loss just
get out and walk the small voice says
without moving my lips my teeth clenched
still the long grasses beckon and wave

come play come count your steps if must
get inside the portrait of ghosts without
a frame this landscape sculpted by intentions
best and cheapest the sun higher now

turning turning falling through space