Of Wheels Poem by James McLain

Branching forever
infinite are days
plus one extra
turning wheel
grinds me under watching eye
in my face think me blind...
laugh..laugh..laugh...no disrespect intended.
..wheels are real lives fate to balance
this act with the other clown I was
and still am..please...master wheel
no more clowning..weary of rest it is that I am
fix my wheel it lays broken out side your door..
burning my spokes for fuel in the winter
even you cool in heart can warm my supper
grant arrogance in me to see
then flee across your desert of grass to the sea.