circles.

 

a fly circles my head.

you cup your hand over
my ear
you trap it inside.

Sing, you say.
Hum him a song
he can buzz
in another ear.

wings tickle my eardrums.
my thoughts are circles,
old ladies swallow itsy
bitsy spiders. Nothing makes
much sense.
he won’t last long in there
so close to my thoughts.

Your hand slides
to the back of my head
and though the fly could
leave he stays
with my indecision.
Uncertain, but
content to fly
in circles.

1 Comment


  1. Ah, the fly is as fascinated by your inner thinkings as I am. Good stuff.

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