Roundabout Ways

Multiple lanes act like multiple brains twoing and froing the left one not knowing where the right one’s going Wide lanes come up the rear creating a pen, holding breath before escape is possible all things are impossible Bear-hugging shut an exit inside monster raging in a hibernate status its ritual hiatus Of inside mashed potatoes mixing with beans, afraid to fart in case it starts clenching fists squeezing ‘til it’s difficult to breathe they tease and please each other on the straight and narrow Holding straight and narrow Forming an arrow Blood rushing ahead, fixing a target to the centre of excellence it’s certain close the curtains A roundabout weighs down guilty as a blood-stained pillow It’s coming The roundabout’s coming.