Is this the end of fulcrum, wheel, and pulley?
Gains or loss issue from plan and man-hour,
Herds bred, coasts moved, pure momentum and mass.
Calls cough through. Gas pumps plentifully.
Wealth permits them to raise, to tend, to scour.
Landfills swell into hills bearded by grass,
Power lines profiled against the sunset
Like ships’ rigging in a crowded anchorage.
Are we merely barnacled to such commerce?
We make corrections, rest, and hit reset,
Lounge in the sun and watch the harbor dredge.
Can so much pure force ever know reverse?
What would replace it? Suckled shark spine, shard,
Fist clenched and unclenched. Overfed graveyard.
Photo by Mazhar Zandsalimi on Unsplash
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