Cycles
Cycle of dirty laundry spinning ad infinitum in the rinse cycle
Always another upkeep to keep up, everything decaying always
Entreaty for succor for suckers borne each minute by entreaty
Galvanized gallantly galloping to our hotspot polished pole galvanized
Tight shoes laces loose such a trip on the high wire line pulled tight
Roundabout roustabout talk about each other behind your back
Back to the woods if you would you could you should venture there
There in the mist of hazy shady crazed memory chanting in the sky
Sky filled with heaving rainclouds and smoke trails crisscross the plains
Plains made plaid by fields of greens and browns checkerboard arrayed
Arrayed displayed set out on foot on paths worn by time and wind current
Current currency the lucre filthy and otherwise lining pockets
Pockets of domesticity in our suburban dead-end roundabout
Merry-go-round whirling desert dervish of carnival hues bright and merry
Stacked pack of clowns grinning mischievous as cats on bookshelves stacked
Think of pink elephants parading along the front walk making you think
How did this come to pass lost my ass and my marbles rolled away asking how
Then the answer made up with no points no elocution just the facts then