That Wheel

I am the wheel that turns
An effigy of flame in paces
Writhing flesh and flicks of fire
As pieces flake off
To rise in the wind
And the wheel that turns
Is me.

I am the wheel that turns
As seasons melt
The grain fields dust up
Into the violence of storms
To ride in the wind
And the wheel that turns
Is me.

I am the wheel that turns
As my face falls to dust
A sickly smile on white
Bleach bone and dirt
To fall in the wind
And the wheel that turns
Can’t really be me
Anymore,

Can it?