round and round

a deeply troubling cackle from the shadows of doubts that trims the fat from faith and the muscle from skepticism. and there's lots of explosions and full frontal nudity and talking animals.

round and round

 

you adorn your days with circles;

looped empty cognizance.

the poem depth shrinks under fingers,

always trapped in bubbles

of midnight

of moonlight

of blue cricket-songs.

 

mourning the nothingness of cold tea

behind wooden mirrors.

a bullet sleeping in its chamber

waits for a chance to undress sweet devastation.

bright sun trapped in a cold place;

a bedroom

a ring

a hole.

 

grieving possibilities of immortality.

popped balloons lie in puddles.

empty hours stamped into flesh.

eyes. tears. lonely coffee cup cocktails.

sometimes stranger skin signals time passed

in a glass

on a planet

by a clock.

 

death has a pulse;

stillness, a rhythm;

truth, a question mark.

 

circles with no exits;

just limits

and

the constant familiarity

that haunts.

Author's Note

have a holly jolly ho! ho! ho! and a fragrant new beginning.
hope it all works out for you this time around.