"circular thinking, 6 am"

dawn is stretching like a rubber band
across the stoic earth,
and here i am on earth, awake still,
feeling my body decaying all around me--
the me that is only
so much meat.

and here i am on earth, awake still,
because sleep is a cheap whore,
squeezing, pleasing
coquettishly teasing
me with what i will never
be, me---
some me not tied with tendons
by the rotting puppet king—
but who is an ocean on a blooming moon
suspended in a quiet, silver spring.

but i don't believe in reincarnation.

and the man on the radio
sings about eternity, and i
am a prisoner in my own
brain, bound behind the
bars of perception—
deception,
my own dulled impression
of possibility, for treason,
hung by the rope of reason
and

the old king is laughing,
but no one is listening
to the songs on the radio,
playing for ever and
the old king is laughing
but no one is listening
to the songs on the radio
playing for ever and
frequencies
ja
mming m
y brain, and the
air is so close
i am
suffocating.
and i imagine coiling
into myself—
into the traces
of a child lost
within winding histories.

in some
echo of someone who I was when I could
run wild through swing sets,
the creaking forevermore left behind--
chess sets and telescopes and clarinets, the
relics of childhood rusting in attics of
grandmothers knitting, knitting their
stories of old books of poetry
in basements and tenements,
and of old men in camping tents,
singing old songs of when they were
young.

Innocence was an instance that passed without passing
from mind— the ever-present absence of a new moon.

And how old was I when the moon hung
so low I could stand upon tip-toes and
graze it with my fingertips?

But the string has been pulled and
the curtain was called,
and I am enlisted,
the army has walls
built around palaces,
the moon screams and falls and,
the old king is laughing,
but no one is listening
to the songs on the radio,
playing for ever and
the old king is laughing,
but no one is listening
to the songs on the radio,
playing for ever and---
wait-- didn't I just hear this tune?

well, the earth is spinning
and it grinds us to dust,
because we're all just atoms,
yeah we're all
just dust, just
spokes in this spiraling
circle of death.

but the voice on the radio
flirts with forever,
hijacking airwaves
over and over, riding the currents
that anchor the universe
and cement us to our
physics.

and i bless every atom
that knit together to
become you,
and wonder if,
when you unravel,
they will be any better
for having been you.

and i imagine your fingers,
bones of the earth,
reaching to the east
turning to roots
that twine into trees
and stretch into leaves
that brush the moon
and touch the eternal.

i guess
i believe
in reincarnation.