Part 1
round and round,
summer, fall, winter,
sp(ring
around the rosy)
poets recycle
(pocket full of posy)
life and dea[r]th
sentences–
no period
at the end
my men(o)pause
no periods
no point
(ashes, ashes)
stuck, depthless
on a [M]obius [S]trip mall,
can’t buy a ride
to the other side
twisted fate
pain, suffering
well, then not
well, then not
then not
what’s the point?
diminished dimensions
(we all fall down)
Part 2
(Ring around the not so rosy)
Dust to dust,
dawn to dusk,
then night falls
Follow the dots here . . .
(Pocket full of prosy)
Around this subject
silent, but not pointless,
the paradoxical point . . .
being without dimensions,
which is the point
of our Being:
Non-being,
(ashes, ashes)
for (we all fall down.)