ching
here we are, going round and round
the Ferris wheel, and your eyes
are like circles
maybe its because i treasure you so,
place you in a frozen kaleidescope
let time, flow in circles
long thin french bread
then they clubbed one over the head
stale
it died.
its yellow, oxidising, degraded to rubble.
i stand in her midst, gazing upon
her majesty.
what she knew confused her even further, she could feel the edges of foundation crumbling like tarts, the seams gradually falling apart and coming undone from the pressure.
if only she'd known.
wheels, wheelbarrows
fitted on cars, conveyor belts,
round, they are spinning and spinning
carry on the load of the modern universe upon its circular self.
how miraculous indeed.
its us against them
me and you against the world
our passive battles fought daily, victories are muted,
our existence a defiance from the natural order,
this is us, the youth.
everything is shiny, sometimes apocalyptic, sometimes grim
the hopes and dreams of our futures,
reflect our current fears.
who knows.
you in the mirror, illustrious.
staring back with your hooded eyes and luscious lips, even in the dying afterglow of morning's light, you are still beauty.
you are still irresistible, the pinnacle of dorian grey, fallen.
you hold it in your hands, press it against the light and you gently open the door,
it yields to you and you step over the threshold, intimidated.
radius, radiant, radiation.
you're in a circle, your smile is broad wide strokes like the green blips on a radar screen.
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