Moving around . . .

There are no clear transitions it’s all abrupt

ly different and yet there is a constancy about it too that offers fleeting but increasingly recurring comfort.

I keep looking for a bookmark, though.

I have been reading so much in the lines and/between/but it’s playtime.

Play, time!

Stop, but go just once forever. Go two, go three.

I don’t want off but I want to see.

The merry-go-round is spinning slow it down I just need a glimpse does it always have to be spinning

in a circle?


I jumped off and crawled into the shade. I am flat on my back under the merry-go-round, and looking up now it is still


still spinning.

Counter clockwise.

Playground shade in the summer is like a dream without a timepiece of time and I can turn the page into yet another metaphor,

my meta for beauty . . .