A Merry Go Round

Everytime it comes around I reach out and make a mark
That’s how, being spun around on the wheel’s edge, the paper comes into view, I reach through my narrow porthole try to get as much down as possible as it rips past
The vehicle doesn’t relent
Throwing me past the still seat of work and thought
The vehicle does not pause
Shooting me past where I imagine I want to be
I’m ammunition from someone else’s weapon
A handsized grenade of skin & hair casting a mansized shadow
I land at their feet, that small group, between their nice shoes, and go off, an atomic invagination, what’s called intimacy
I’m arrived late in the middle of their show
I’m a walkon and take over the role of the one that couldn’t stay, or just left, or never showed
And over her shoulder, or his, I watch outside the window that place spin past
I wish, without movement, I reach past her shoulder, or his, and extend my arm, and make a mark as the paper rips past
And then I may say
Do you hear the wind?