Carousel

illustration

 

The world is whirled in Space

And hurled in moving ’round the place

Which centers on the Sun.

In golden light is rolled and spun

And bowled, this tiny fold

In Time, to chase

Itself in circled run

To heat and crack

Its peaks and caves

And tumble corpses

In their graves

Like some berserk psychotic clown

Who first builds up and

Then tears down.

A geoclastic schizophrenic,

Artist’s eye for the scenic,

Makes and breaks

In random spasm,

Seas and seasons,

Crag and chasm,

Elephant and

Microplasm.

Roiling, boiling, coiling, spoiling,

Unconcerned for good or bad.

Split with lightning, grumbled thunder –

Is it really any wonder

Humankind is plainly mad?

 

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