Pullin Strings Poem by David Thomas

i struggle
to put this effortless smile on my face
as the wind clock strikes noon
and the gusts take off,
below the head-ached moon
and the broken back of saturn
this decrepit earth keeps rotating
like a poorly oiled machine,
life and scum mix together
to clog up all the drains
the sludge and disgusting smells seep
as we all start to creep
towards what some might hint is a brighter
future,
but the rest of us only dream.