Circles

I float through heavy laden streets

Laid atop darkness and light

Cruelty and visions

The golden cricket watches

As I spin along with its blue sharp hands

As that small round church with its sharp black fences

Plays

Beautiful music that outfits stone

And pierces sky and shouts

Like the gargoyles of old

Singing and spinning around and round

That round church

And wicked golden cricket speak in circles names

Of death and spring and evil old games