I could no longer tell if I was the Wheel or the Turning . . .

Consider this stone
Toss it up gently
A gravity rainbow
and it pauses for an instant
at the apex of the arc

What does the stone feel?
Does it mind being the victim of your inquiry . . .?
Is it helpless to hold to your hand
Is it secretly wishing to be liberated from the Earth
that forged it . . .?
What does the stone feel?
Its not talking . . .

But I know how it feels
That infernal Ferris Wheel . . .
on the fairgrounds near Pickens
And I have even forgiven Debbi
(well almost)
For daring me to ride it
(actually I may have dared her . . .)
Saying it was a child’s ride . . .

It wasn’t the old circus . . .
The popcorn and cotton candy – spun sugar circus
The painted elephants
and too many clowns out of a car circus

The circus in my heart
The old circus like Christmas in dreams
Like love when you are eleven
Like . . .

Under a sky to color of straw
I climbed aboard the machine
Confident it would pass me unaffected
confident Debbi would be screaming
Foolishly confident . . .

I swear the ascent was like being born
Terrifying as the passing air ripped away
my preconceived notions of mortality
A gravity rainbow
and we paused for an instant
for an eternity
at the apex of the arc . . .

And the crash into the darkened Earth
Death made manifest
Death smelling of too many people
And cotton candy
and the grease smell of huge machinery

Then being snapped back into an unwilling ascent
Tossed up gently
A gravity rainbow
pausing for an instant
at the apex of the arc

And somewhere in it . . .
Somewhere in a Zen moment . . .
when everything fell away . .
I could no longer tell
If I was the Wheel or the Turning . . .

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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