God-Forsaken Immortality

And so, I wrote until the sun kissed my face,

And the birds screamed sunrise melodies;

As the people in their homes slept the morning hours away

Until their dreams were only sweet memories.

 

Then they awake to their 9-5 job,

As I am harrowingly writing on

Some abandoned rooftop

Smoking the last drag from old cigarettes

And wondering if the sun

Wanted to rise as much

As the people in their homes

Wanted to.

 

It seems the earth only

Spins in circles because

Circles only spin in transient things;

On the rusted wheels of the

1950’s car vacated

Somewhere in the American west,

Or,

Even in the vague way of thinking

As in the case of cyclical affairs;

The weather patterns of consistent

Inconsistencies

And all the polar opposites.

Where the line is indefinite,

And the triangle is constantly changing,

The circle is forever twirling –

Forever twirling,

Twirling, twirling

Into and around and toward

Some God-forsaken immortality.

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