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Too big to fight, too slow to change,
the wheels on the outside are painted-on,
layers of faces disconnected from gears

that grind-out promises, grind-down reserves,
and grind-up dreams. It ingests us, growing
still, and almost stationary, always hungry

for power. We dodge cogs and rollers
in the sort to nest near broken welds and seams
for the outside light, praying to our gods.

You are old enough, now, to see where
we’ve come from, and what has become
of humanity dumbed-down with slogans

from the poets on the payroll, the quick
and easy assonance that lubricates
today's friction to absolve us all.

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The opinions expressed in the Western Folklife Center's Deep West online journals are those of the online journal participants and not the Western Folklife Center. The Western Folklife Center does not moderate these journals and as such does not guarantee the veracity, reliability or completeness of any information provided in the journals or in any hyperlink appearing within them.

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