the turning of a star (friction incident upon heaven)

they talk of us as if we are dumb
spinning in circles around the big round sun

once we thought that we spun it
a yolked apollo pulling
the sun baking a horse shit
trail accross the sky

but consider that roundness
indeed the roundy-est
thing in sight

the moon is a golfball
dinged up battered in the woods
compared to that self-fired kiln
glazing the pervasive night

now apollo plays that lyre
as a tennis racket of sky
lobbing a hot potato back and forth
if the potato
is uncharacteristically
un-eyed and pi proportioned

hence the sun must turn too
as any foot on a marble knows
the very essence of time is rolling
smooth and fast
on one big ball bearing