Spinning Top

Circular collage of eclectic identities,

A cultural turntable spinning the

Perimeter of empty space.

Ideology of a foreign perspective spins the top.

Inertia creeps, the skin riddles, the cells weep.

Lethargy is exhausted.

A wish to dissipate, to place all chips on all of the numbers but centrifugal force has taken hold. Place the pin at a moments drop and watch as the map blurs and the hills close in as psychological make-up drips down a mud stained and bruised face.

The wish, the desire, the lust to leave is an inexorable, relentless urge that roots one to the spot and leaves you kneeling in front of a spiritual tombstone that waits for you to inscribe upon it's blank face an epitaph of nihil. Take me away from this demented Mardi-gras please, to a space undefined by the other space I am trying to avoid.