Totem.

 
I am nailed to the centre of a rotating wheel,
With nine unique podiums protruding erratically from the middle-
Each one has upon it a sacred animal,
With cables and leads winding from their limbs, a conducting menagerie:
They feed me from their fertile elements,
But I am overfed, and cannot excel in any given extremity-
I exist only as a puffy average.
 
Beneath my wheel is a hanging cage, bearing within the solemn Serpent,
She will cry to fill her bowl, and she will sleep to kill her prey.
 
Above my head is the dancing Seal, frolicking and saturating in teenage years,
He laughs away his pains, and breathes vitamins when he sings.
 
Below my feet is the meditating Octopus, eating away at the meaning of life,
She never blinks for fear of missing some untold mystery solidify.
 
To the north is the quivering Bat, swallowing sonar through lilaceous ears,
He has sewn up his eyes, and taped his wings with bloated entrails.
 
To the south is the vibrant Ladybird, harbouring youth in a world of abortions,
She takes pleasure in consuming aphids, but there are no plants to preserve.
 
To the east is the vindictive Lion, angered by the slaughter of his humble pride,
He has no wife and he will have no legacy, no immortality.
 
To the west is the valiant Seahorse, fighting his battles with a broken sword,
He drinks the blood of his enemies, mistaking it for friendly wine.
 
To the left is the wondering Dove, sorrowful patron for the absent female,
Her breasts have shrivelled from the lack of fertility.
 
To the right is the tormenting Spider, whirling his tongue with vicious dew,
He changes gender as he sheds his skin, webs becoming a cave of stalactite.
 
I am nailed to the centre of a rotating wheel,
Speeding so fast that the eye recognizes the nine unique podiums,
As one matchless, gelatinous blob.