Spin Cycles

Spin Cycles 

•+**••+**+••+**••••

Tumbling fresh in down-trodden spirit wheels

There's a place hurtling onwards 

I'm not there

   I can't be

      as spirals blind my feet

I call on the juggling jester to cease 

I know him

Like I know reflective mirrors 

     And skin

       And monotonous mornings 

Like a rotating sieve full of prospect

Shuffling and scattering my essence  

As relentless as a gold-eyed miner

Waiting for my gold flakes

To reveal

   To revel

      at my discovery

Among the globules of my wasted self

A golden ladder of my bones 

  Out of the maniacal spinnings 

    Onto willed free-shine 

Hoping I'll not wait for my presence

   to be as present as I am 

For I may pass my riches by and by 

  To my death...

There's a place hurtling onwards 

   I'm on my way 

 

mF 

(C) MarkFlood2015 poem + image