Round and round and round again,
the end looks like the beginning,
the middle resembles the end,
a chance – but a chance to begin.

Drink deep then, and settle in,
all roads roam in culdesacs,
each turn is into the next,
the last,
round and round and round again.

Tireless pursuit resigns in capture,
resent the bonds, the offense of process,
plead with words wrapped in ribbons
and animosity
the yoke broken, betrayal.

Round and round and round again,
to loosen the hand – would send us
endless;
out into the absolute black,
where
I’m
losing/have lost
it.