Clockwork ( Willie Soniat - Baton Rouge, LA)

I've always had an interest in clockwork.

Little gears set in specific place

Winding and whirling each other along

A physically programmed path.

And I don't get it.

At some point it becomes too complex to just talk about

Just a mix-mash of machinery that just works as intended.

I feel like I want to relate to it.

The way this gear relates to that spring

Or this cog turns that wheel

It all moves for a reason.

I want that.

I want to understand why I get out of bed in the morning

Though I never want to.

Why do I keep going,

Where is the gear that winds me awake every day,

To perform these simple tasks.

Why do I feel cold steel feelings

Like I am meant only to complete each

Function of the day

Step by step by step by step by step

Until I go to bed and wait for the next

Its numb.

Like fingers caught in gears

And tear drop oil working its way through

The creaky interior

I want to break myself open

And trace my way back through the process.

Find which wheel makes me move,

Which cog makes me feel,

What spring is not working.

But it all gets too complex to just talk about

So I’m fine.

Fine with watching rust creep its way into the controls

With feeling each creak getting louder

And my movement becoming a symphony of agony.

The spring in my step popping out of place

And wheels rolling away

I’m tired

Of finding each little mistake in me.

Each out of place piece

And every worn out metal bit.

I'm tired of working my clockwork heart.

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