Like a playing card in bicycle spokes.
Spinning, it starts to hum
The melody of the motion of invention.
The ticks become an old car
Guttering down a rain slick alley,
Faster and faster:
To a smooth-engined roadster,
Careening through the scenic view,
To a plane readying for take off,
Readying to unite the world.
No sound of gears
Just the spinning.
Such a small amount of energy
Adding and adding
And building up inertia
To go continuously around and around.
The quick release:
Power gone faster than possible.
Success and survival
Completing circuit after circuit.