Clutch

Something had to give Or, it was going to break …shatter …explode into fragments so sharp they could sever gravity The machine had been running on vapors for far too long Nothing oiled Nothing lubed Everything got too hot too quickly Everything groaned, screeched, & whined as it threatened to seize Irreparable Each piece, to the tiniest, was twisted, and skewed six ways from Sunday It was so many things… The one thing it wasn’t…. It wasn’t good So far removed from good that it was miserable A junk pile of outdated parts A wretched heap of uselessness The rub? …it wasn’t always in such disrepair When it was in its prime, it ran like a syrupy dream A dream that promised an eternity Absolute Always Now, that dream was pregnant with sorrow, & about to birth a bitter end It promised nothing more The tank long emptied It promised nothing more than The lengthy, messy, harrowing task of dismantling the machine Piece by piece Each stamped with painful memory …a reminder of what it used to be.