The Waterwheel

© 2012 David Jasmin-Green
 
Wait. I know that you want me,
but please, please hang on.
You don't understand the situation.
Think for a moment, lover, for fuck's sake,
weigh the bloody consequences,
ignore your pounding heart for a moment
and use your head. If you like
I can try to explain the subtle ins and outs
of this particular branch of celestial mechanics,
but I doubt if you'll believe me
or even begin to comprehend.
I know you need me now, but if you bear with me,
if you carefully ponder every single imponderable
I offer for dissection and do exactly as I ask
I promise to make your longing worthwhile.

Relax, honey bunch. Lie back, smoke a cigarette or two.
Enjoy the warm September sunshine,
allow a little more water to pass under the bridge
and all will be well. But trust me, right now
the water is too dangerous to cross
and the present moment is the wrong time to learn to swim.
 
OK, fasten your seatbelt - this is how it works.
Our burning need feeds the whim of the waterwheel,
a cold, impassive but endlessly dangerous machine,
a machine that chatters nervously
as it measures every hour and minute and second
granted to immaterial mortals like you and I.
Right now the lake where the iron demon resides
is way too turbulent. The waterwheel
is too treacherous to navigate around
until the dark, angry waters settle,
so you have to wait or live without me,
it's entirely up to you.
Now is the wrong time, for the second hand is busy
and the cogs of the waterwheel churn effortlessly
towards danger and death and damnation. 
Come for me now with open arms and a dripping hole
while the clock ticks toward the witching hour
and time will punish us, we'll fail to synchronise properly
or worse, worse than you can possibly imagine.
Dry your eyes and other orifices, my cherub,
and at least try to believe in my madness.

This is how it is.
The running water of our hearts
pours into a huge, thoroughly unpredictable reservoir
still on the surface but turgid and terrifying underneath.
There, in the black, cloying depths, hidden from prying eyes
waits the waterwheel, well oiled and silent and never still.
The waterwheel is something you don't really want to know about,
it's something we should all intuitively avoid.
The waterwheel spins anticlockwise,
calculating with immaculate precision
the many imperceptible points in space and time
where the last few hundred thousand words and moments
might carry us towards its waiting jaws.
The waterwheel is ravenous beyond comprehension,
and it waits for a chance to snap our bones like dry twigs.
The waterwheel wants only to gleefully pop our skulls
like brittle snail shells underfoot
because that's what it's for, that's what it does,
that's all it does. So be patient, my sweet.
Wait a little while longer if you can,
if you really want to, that is,
and, of course, if you think I'm worth it.
Wait until the time is ripe for me and thee.