by poems & doodles

oh, the spinning.

tight circles on
tiptoes, pointed; en
pointe. ankles teeming
with ruptured capillaries,
swollen ruby
and bruised cerulean,

wrapped in ribbons
of shredded tissue,
her leg
a maypole
abandoned in a storm.

and the spinning

has lost its momentum.
tight circles slow
to a lazy, drunk twirl
until, eventually
like a top without torque
she falls on her side
watches, tear-brimmed
as the world
rushes by

a dizzying watercolor scene
twisting too quick
to hold onto.

(she never could keep up, anyway)