ferris wheel, fishhook, lollipop

ferris wheel, fish hook, lollipop

Ferris didn’t invent the wheel.

he popularized the endless

cycle. he conjugated 

a new verb: 

the act of going nowhere and

the blind willingness to 

pay for it.

a Sisyphean torture as palpable

as apple pie, fresh cut Kentucky blue

and a cool evening breeze

in August.

spinning, laughing children, still

unconcerned with terminal

bodily harm. financiers and 

their spring daisies, clutching

at anything; at each other -

swaying in an iron breeze

blowing them forward

blowing them backward

blowing them forward

blowing.

the one sensible Greek, layered

against the times in which 

he lives, crying out 

‘αρκετά! αρκετά!

         ‘enough! enough!’

‘enough! enough!’       ‘enough! enough!’

‘enough! enough!’                          ‘enough! enough!’

            ‘enough! enough!’      ‘enough! enough!’

                          ‘enough! enough!’

until

you get what you pay for,

get back in line, and pay again

for another round of cliche.

                                          

about the fish hook:

the river is narrow, but moves,

nonetheless, i’ll give it that

away from the barkers and

the smell of fried chicken and 

peach cobbler and 

raspberry lollipops with lemon swirls,

some have chosen to sit

a line dangling from a broken branch,

a hook in the flow,

some rotted flesh beneath

the surface, waiting

for something, anything, 

to tug them from their hot air

lethargy.

there are no nearly naked

legs spread in a balanced stance - 

sharp eyed, spear clenching,

bare breasted hunters -  

seeking - going for it -

FUCK YOU, LEVIATHAN! -

sneering at the barb and filament.

MOUNT THE NECK OF THE BEAST!

Ride to the rough, black waters

of….

there’s none of that here.

so, the lollipop:

I’ve never been able to grasp

the original intention of

the sucker; peel the plastic 

and shove the hard substance

in your cheek.  slowly

dissolve. 

it sounds like it should come from

succour, but it probably doesn’t.

that has nothing - nothing -

to do with it.

suck the air. suck the teat.

suck the marrow. suck the life.

even still, when at a fair,

lining up at the ferris wheel,

i try (so hard it hurts)

at sucking

          inevitably

the jaw clenches, a sound

of thunder rattles my inner ear,

the candied delight of patience

explodes

sending sharp spears of sugar

into the nerve, deep in the 

dark, open cavity where

my leviathan lover decayed.

Ferris, like so many others, died.

his ashes were left on a shelf

for years, having nobody to

claim them. i like to think

his ashes were eventually

dissolved in a river somewhere;

like a lollipop.