pile of tissues on the floor

Each spin, is more difficult to stop
speed is increased, consumptive vertigo
fear that handles will injure
each morning goes round opportunity is not bacon
a pile of tissues on the floor
jump into the pond touch the mud and weeds
open the window the rain massages your hair
let’s sit with a dictionary, shout words on unassociated pages

I am a pirate, a doctor, a church bell ringer
this morning it broke, they won’t be returning for clean laundry
nor a ride of the bus
they will re-enter to learn twisted methods
applications of fear, impossible rotations jarred
star formed spinning thoughts impossible to stop.

 

 

 

Dontate