spinney circles are where you turn when you’re lost in a world without walls.
you turn them, and turn them lost in sound
like a loose blanket draped over your head, white with stains, crowned.
crawling on knees and hands looking for a way out
you spin
and
spin.
like the flea at the bottom sucking and munching on urine soaked skin.
a greener grass world you wanted in,
and now you’re
in.
a flake of dead flesh about to tumble to the dirt speckled ground,
the more you unravel the looser it’s bound,
and you keep hearing as you’re turning a stranger softer sound after sound…
a pore blocked up to a swollen appendage right over top of the heart,
it’s blocking my judgment, making my chest do a red sea part
Keep on thinking what has been has been has been
Do these spinney circles, a flea sucking, munching, urine soaked skin