blessed are those who spin. . for they shall be called wheels

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game. Joni Mitchell

gin makes me laugh
Reminding me of our childhood
Playground where a massive
Maypole of steel chains with handles
We called striders

Swung children at a mad speed
Til inertia lifted feet from earth
Circular flight
or not, as
Sweaty palms slipped us
At concussive force onto the
Dusty ball field
Giddly deciphering the extent
of our bruises we
Rushed again to leap aboard
We used to think dizziness was fun

I am visiting a land of carousels
Which comes to me with that same speed
On whirlwinds
eddy currents
Without courtesy
Of warning,
takes me for spin after spin

And I plead
Nay, beg to return to familiar ground
But this place has no such landing.

I could feel rich
For I have two more of everything
On this merry go round
Two rocking chairs,
two pinging phones,
two howling dogs.
Two swaying swings,
two or three tv screens
All repeating the same slideshow
Click. Click. click
gyrating letters on two keyboards
drives poetry from my heart
two coffee cups
neither of which my four whirling hands
can grasp
as they plummet to twitching hardwood floors
my cedar flutes lie silent
16 fingers
cannot manage to cover 8 holes
Even in the dark
With mom’s satin night mask over my eyes
I lie like Dorothy of Oz
In the eye of a twister
Waiting for mattress and house to
drop to earth
Click.
Click.
Two doctors with two opines
Two ear crystals
Two neck muscles

Occasionally.
I can step
off the
merry go around
There I have four knees, four feet.
None of which will lend me steady ground

While starlight reels counterclockwise
I cover my four eyes.

I try to believe
that these things pass
And soon the trip.
Trip.
Trip.
Shall end
I step onto the swaying dock
Leap off the playing ground striders
Grip breezes as they shudder
Shake off extra shadows
Hang up extra phones

Remember how it feels to walk strong and steady
If I dare I crane my sore neck
to look back
has the carnival left?
Painted Horses still
spinning screaming octopus dismantled
bumper cars stacked neatly
leer with fake headlights
‘A pox on your kind’

Absentmindly
my two hands search for fence rail
Or walking stick

It’s not there
I don’t need it anymore
I’m off the carousel.