turret syndrome

in concentric circles

these sun-saturated planks

 

constrict the heart

of the house,

 

make it feel — over

and over again.

 

in slippery socks

you walk the ranks

 

you know so well,

eyes shut.

 

floating far above in a spiral-pocket

of deadening air, a hair of respite

 

plucked from the hard

wick of existence.

circles

 

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