Jul 4, 2021
2 min read
This Involuntary Pirouette
A poem
you awaken to a house
purpled by the twilight
and the ceiling clicks from
its silver latch
fleshy webs blur and block
a winding coil crunching
three times like boots on gravel
before your eyes
rounded jaws begin to spin
a water wheel of singular
top of the scale notes
slowly at first, a familiar
but unrecognizable melody
comes into focus and it sounds
like childhood ending
melancholy and expectant
as a…
