Dizzy

I spun circles
in desperate search of North

... but all I got was dizzy

I scrubbed the same black-bloodcrusted spot on the floor for hours;
sought to blanch the tile white
with raw-white-knuckle-determination
and just a little lonesome

I've sung at stars
until vocal chords bent in half ...
some snapped in two

(open my mouth to prove it)

I railed and supplicated at false gods
rallied the long seventh inning stretch
with a glass of water and a slice of cold pizza

Ramified with a single planted seed in sallow Earth.

In the yonder of twilight and moonshine
a single nova caught
the silk net, lamented.

The incandescence shone brightest;
then immolated infinitely inward.

(Which struck my heart with a most disconcerting thud
As the dictionary lay open to page 1340.)


I spun circles
... until you.

Dizzy by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.