Twittering Machine Paul Klee 1922

The hand crank sounds about right There's a them, with a master plan But how much variance is there? A rotation becoming monotonous Until there's no hand in sight Those with feet fixed to the wire They squawk and twitter, flail... Taking no comfort from each other Just enough blueprint lingers For the plan to feel recoverable "It'll be ok..." "Let's resume the rotations!" Glee? Oh it's enough to scramble brains Maybe that's the intention? Is there a pit beneath to fall into? Or an examination table? Count up the components: -eyes -tongues -anguish -just enough balance to cling on... What those in the frame don't see Is this could be a discarded plan Cast aside, stained, just a pen sketch But when your whole existence Is within the confines of 4 corners You see endless blue Interpret it any old way to suit your mood Tethered feet means they don't step back Thank goodness?