Flit and Spin
By Brett Somers
Mind sticking round and round.
Loneliness is that sticking sound.
No pillows of comfort
Nor footstep, firm ground.
Why does my loneliness stick?
My ears make me sick.
Meddlesome they play.
Which way, which way.
Decisively I sway.
Meadows sit and chirp.
Flit and mock.
How I sit and flit.
Flit and rock.
Flit and rock.
Mind sticking round and round
Rubbing stones.
This wonderous wanderlust.
Pondering thus.
A...
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