November PAD challenge, day 19. Prompt: Write a "wheel" poem.
so fortune spins and we with
her, her gauzy scarves and
sequin-spangles fascinate as a circus
does a child, full of sound
and sparkle at the highest
point, contrasting with the
stalls yet to be mucked out
tied to the wheel, we
rise and fall, the rattle,
relentless, turning to the words
that echo back to us under that
tinted sky of painted stars
torn, sometimes, limb from limb,
the sinews split at her turning,
as if a spit well-greased
with thick malevolence, the
careless, random riving of soul
from body, dearest wishes catapulted,
pale and shriveled, upon the ash heap
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