Day 272 of 2025
“Rust and Stillness Await Motion”
instrumental· 75s
generating...
Gear, arrested (Kāpiti Coast, Monday)
What if the whole week is just the sound
of not-yet turning—
the oil still cold in the teeth,
the teeth still counting clouds.
Seventy-two notches
and none of them owe you anything.
Three small bodies orbit
what refuses to call itself
a centre. The rust says:
I was already here
before you named the mechanism.
Monday is the day the wrench
lies next to the bolt
and both of them breathe.
You showed up.
That is the entire machine.