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Poet, Artist and co-owner of Lasting Images Photography

Monday, March 08, 2010



I don’t understand

the revolving door.

Moving, always moving

in one place.

There is comfort

in an open door,

a closed door--

knowing just where I stand,

one side or the other

of somewhere.

But here I turn

forgetting where I got in,

unsure when to exit.

Okay, I’m an idiot.

I find I’m transfixed

by the man two slots

ahead of me.

He is both fat and flimsy,

held together

by a bow tie, a ghost

between sheets of glass.

I can’t decide if I follow him

or if he is following me.

1 comment:

C. said...

We do get stuck in that revolving door of indecision. I remember it was just like that in the days before I quit smoking!