Few, crowded hands, sparse, though one
Though they are doomed, they have begun
To carve out of stone, to weave out of reeds
A simple machine, at a countable speed
Slow, like molasses, the start is the worst
The hands now press on, becoming the first
The wheel, it is heavy, the few stagger on
Though they couldn't conceive of what was beyond
Slow, ever faster, loss to a snail's pace
So how then does this machine win every race
How will it turn through the sleet and the fire?
How will it keep on and never get tired?
Hands start to fall, the first die young
Young hands placed anew, increasing the sum
They need never push the wheel from a stop
The wheel has momentum, gained from the hands dropped
So one becomes some, and some garner quick
Some hands start to ponder alternative tricks
One gets the Wheel next to a wandering brook
So the Wheel takes less hands than the Wheel had just took
But, then, Eureka! An idea is found
And so the wheel turns and the grains are then ground
Which then feeds the more hands, which push it some more
Through the plagues and the deaths and the famines and wars
And yes there are conquests and villages burning
But nevertheless the Wheel keeps on turning
Its mass too immense, it cannot stop now
The Wheel transports tools and new knowledge and cows
The hands, will they stop? Their mission complete?
Surely by now, they're made obsolete?
But with metals and foods and large rubber bands
The Wheel seems to cultivate much stronger hands
The Wheel defies all, the Wheel is divine
The saviour to death, it's curing the blind
The weak die not young, splendors seek them out
The Wheel keeps on spinning its wonders about
No hand now could stop it, a beautiful thing
The beauty unbound in a sphere or a ring
Though that ring has been carved, what was the deal?
Carved out of carvings carved out by the Wheel
The Wheel keeps on spinning, the hands, they push on
The Wheel aids in theatres and novels and songs
The Wheel never stops, never slows or plateaus
It accelerates by hand, just as ages ago
So when the mountain stands before you
Or when the sea seems vast and blue
Know the Wheel turns all the faster
To make a molehill of disaster
The Three body problem will make one's mind unsound
So I'd much rather think of a noun and a noun
To see how eyes wrap 'round their friends and their peers
To watch fuzzy memories fuzzily appear
To see folks stand closely, apparently fond
And watch to see sparks of invisible bonds
Gone with the glass and in with the flesh
Icky and smelly and imperfect, yes,
Though I hope I'm lucky, I hope that I'm able
To join imperfections sat down at a table
I'll say nothing much, or nothing of note
And they will agree, as if I had spoke
Yes, that is where the name is devised
As this second person's where problems arise
You'll see it in others, quite plain with your eyes
But how can you see your invisible ties?
They say that you'll know it, though that is a miss
If we'd been aware, we shan't reminisce
And so if I were given just one little wish
I'd wish that I'd know it before it is missed
Swimming the seas of the dark, calm stone
Is a downtrodden astronaut who hasn't atoned
For some sin, some disgrace, some flaw or a fault
So now they tread slowly in the tranquil basalt
Helmet burst open, suit caked and dusted
With a pale toxic ground, so their lungs are all busted
So as the Moon dies before its next, new exchange
That star sailor tumbles along the vast range
Dance to the seas of your own counterpart
As both you and your tenant will slowly depart
Frozen and vacuumed, a serenely stilled face
Looks over the craters next to the past base
Bask in the shimmer, you great nauta mortis
Swim the warm waters of mare frigoris
And though the far, dark side may be a sensation
Stay in our sightlines, account for libration
Oh Moon, ever dying, the corpse of old Theia
And corpse, ever living, cross lunar maria
A mind, cold and breathless, would quick be a loon
But you'll find no grey matter in this Zombie on the Moon