By Joan Lennon
Looking at
you looking at
it
the stance says it all
that slight leaning forward
the way your front foot begins to slide
the way the stripes creep over your shoulders
ready to head past your head
all strangely quiet
not a sucking sound to be heard
or are there no other senses left
just sight
just watching
the disappearing of light
into
the patient symmetry of the circle
looking at
you looking at
it
me tourist to you
who are tourist to
the road to hell’s
black hole
not noticing
the traffic is one way
me noticing
you not noticing
me not noticing
the gravity of our situation.
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