Physics of Unindividuality

It seems to osmose
my blood,
my sweat.
Ravenously leeching
the one thing I offer:
myself.

It seems to grease
some ever-turning gears
that collectively
the economy we turn.
Relentlessly spinning;
blindly chewing and
morosely spitting.

In and out,
common faces with no individuality --
in the eyes of their Green Gods --
but one item in common,
robotic autonomies
completing never-satiated tasks.
They come and go.
I came to stay,
but in some way
I know a day will come
for me to be replaced.

Just one more oil-can,
I am,
half-empty;
half-full.
Serving an untouchable,
kissing her patent pumps
clad in Gold chain.

Cannot offer more
than that which another
can give.
It's a rhetoric
we do not speak,
but always hear:
nothing new
under the blazing sun.

Cannot perform that
which can just be overdone
and zealously succeeded
by gifted others
I can envy
beneath my blue
polo collars and tags.

Just a smile
and a new face,
the veterans
are friend or foe,
and even then
it's hard to know
which is which;
who is who.

climbing The Infinite Pole,
broken ladder;
splinted reality,
rusted bottom.

Slow and steady -
embracing drift wood steps,
bleeding hands
stamped by thick slivers.

Head lifted
to the horizon above,
and a smile
to clear the fog.

Nothing done
falls to waste,
foolish to rush
and be in a haste.
The weave will unravel -
Perpetual motion is improbable
unless our constants change.