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Quite delusional
standing aside
your carousel
and its lights
lead my eyes
to the empty canvas
of this beau-
ti-
ful night
it all seems right
when the rhyme and rhythm tie
hand in hand
and talk
to each other in riddles
like the carousel horses
with their flaking paint
and rusted gears
children laugh
as if screaming your name
my heart pounds
at the thought of weening myself from
this game and this carousel
oh my silent Zebedee
you are quite lovely
i could have you with all your flaws
as mere sugar cubes in the coffee
in the polystyrene cup
from the burger van
it is not serious
i have the karma coming
probably why you are here
to count my days and infect them
with pleasure
oh how i had forgotten pleasure
and while we have the time
bind me to the horse
put me on the spin
cut the lights
unless they flash
to the beat of your thumping chest
and let the karma bruise me
come what could my Zebedee
here seems special enough to pass time
though it would be foolish not to know i am
purgatories prisoner
and it is just giving me time
at this circus
to superb the crowds
with my clown-like luster
unless of course
they too fear clowns
i will not look in mirrors
it is a punishment all of its own
being happy is a punishment when
the carousel stops
Zebedee has died
and the clown make up will
not wash off
your carousel
and its lights
lead my eyes
to the empty canvas
of this beau-
ti-
ful night
it all seems right
when the rhyme and rhythm tie
hand in hand
and talk
to each other in riddles
like the carousel horses
with their flaking paint
and rusted gears
children laugh
as if screaming your name
my heart pounds
at the thought of weening myself from
this game and this carousel
oh my silent Zebedee
you are quite lovely
i could have you with all your flaws
as mere sugar cubes in the coffee
in the polystyrene cup
from the burger van
it is not serious
i have the karma coming
probably why you are here
to count my days and infect them
with pleasure
oh how i had forgotten pleasure
and while we have the time
bind me to the horse
put me on the spin
cut the lights
unless they flash
to the beat of your thumping chest
and let the karma bruise me
come what could my Zebedee
here seems special enough to pass time
though it would be foolish not to know i am
purgatories prisoner
and it is just giving me time
at this circus
to superb the crowds
with my clown-like luster
unless of course
they too fear clowns
i will not look in mirrors
it is a punishment all of its own
being happy is a punishment when
the carousel stops
Zebedee has died
and the clown make up will
not wash off
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