holiday ponies

around the setting
the same cobblestones, the same black spots
of discarded gum, the same dead cigarette butts
the same rubbish

around the ring
its edges constant
on the periphery

around, sometimes burdened
with something small, alive and heavy
with or without these things,
around in constant motion

around with blinders
nose-to-arse
around the sadness
voiceless and accepting
around the spirit
sounds of purchase
and joy

around the chaos
around the drama
around the romance
around this time

suddenly stopping, heading off in new directions
shuffling into another small space
in hopes of at least one dream
settling for a sleep
that is merely a pleasant link in this crushing loop

around the whispered notions
of ancestors in vast stretches
of fresh grass and blue seasons

around the frozen air
that digs into ribs like the sharp
blows that the small living things often send down

around the master
with his command stick
and his bitterness
around again
from day to night
around again
from sleep to activity

my spirit racing
around my head
unable to determine
just what I did wrong
the last time around