Marionette

To be this or that some romantic folly imaginary self escaping But what is me An addict of breathing addicted to a turn about routine an anchor of habits a very sure thing Or closed within a sepulcher of me To dreams aspiring and Earth denying each radiant of living be brought to hollow and conundrum anticipating Each facile fantasy of me Spruced up in a million hypothesis some liquorice tart demented black oil, black oil of possibilities and still but to carry a leaf upon a breeze This dagger in the ribs of me All strewn about my feet and in boredoms capitulation endlessly I lurch and blunder marionette through day light Once there were wings attached to me The merry go round a merry go round of me Where was I ? Oh yes to be this or that some romantic folly imaginary self escaping