I turn the handle
Stiffly, it moves
Dust falls from the cracks, the dust of time
From deep within a moan of mechanical pain
A squeal of protest, before the machine moves
It is an ancient mechanism
Worn, but cared for
I hear the creaks of disuse,
smell the congealed grease spreading thin
The wheels and cogs slowly thunder to life
Inertia is all I need,
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