The terrible wheel turned a notch again
The notch was a day and the wheel a machine that could fit inside my hand
It was glassy cold in the morning to my touch but by night it smelled of burning
I touched it’s glass and saw rust, heard scrapings of a pick-axe against the wall
I went to a mine in the Atacama, tasted it’s dryness, and licked Neruda’s boots.
The wonderful wheel turned a notch again
I went to a mine in the Atacama Desert, licked Neruda’s boots, and went to Mars, Death Valley
Marte, muerte, el oxido te hace mal. Te hace mal si entra a tus pulmones
I didn’t feel pranged out because nothing had ever happened to me before, and I assumed it never would.
I didn’t understand the meaning of the mine and how it was the rust cause of the machine’s effect
The miner flew down in place of the canary, who he was teaching to peck at the walls.
The canary was pecking at the walls, but the granular dust stuck in its beak
My stomach fell into knots at the sight of my parents masked – the dust was entering their lungs
Did I send them out before me into the mine while I kissed windows?
Did I always assume that mornings would be cool and clear, evenings red as rust?
Now I am ready but untouched apart from the machine which is heating my breastbone.
The terrible wheel turned a notch again
The notch was a day and wheel a machine that could fit inside my hand
attackofthepaperwizards 