The Escape Artist
David J Walker
He was
Well dressed
In a Goodwill sort of way
Pinstripes down his
Breast
Cuffed at the end of
Each long leg
Shoes buffed
Into mirrored shine
Checking his Canal Street Rolex
For the incorrect time
This is how his
Day goes
Blowing Orbicular grey smoke
forced through his churlish nose
Awaiting the arrival of
The next Greyhound bus
That necessarily must
take him
Anywhere else
Give me something round
Edges to life should be circular
Beware of the elliptic mystery
Rotate your marbles frequently
Give me something spherical
Two hemispheres in harmony
Held together with super glue
Solid to the core and spiraling
Give me something not Michigan
(Round objects are illegal in Michigan)
Balls and clocks are criminal offenses
Cops eat holes but not the donuts
Give me something curled up
Cylindrical in its composition
Rotund but not too obtusely cute
Circumferences should not be too cute
Give me something more articulated
Orbicular to orbiculated would be great
An object that orbits about itself and others
Held in both hands hollowed out loud
Give me something, anything with a shape
As long as it is not cube or rectangular
Squares and lines are grave mistakes
God forgives that which is angular
Give me something other than zeros
There must be light at the end of the tunnel
Ovals become more circular over time
Edges become less... once questioned
Give me moons surrounded by planets
Give me bald women who look ridiculous
We love them anyway from the bottom up
And the universe they came in on
EYES as large as acres that see,
some hidden things.
ORBICULAR VISUS are secrets deeply
hidden under divided worlds.
Our smallest of small;
a globe of fragile glass,
Within the smallest of
our hands,
But by it’s Soul and by it’s
Spirit of a heart of Crystal
pass,
Tininess voices through twilight
land be heard,
the most sincerest liar —
the mind suited for war
is our sight
by this night
of all nights
heard.
:: 01-28-2019 ::
E.P. Robles (c) 2019
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