Slippage Repeats Itself if you Linger Here

Linger here with me, where
voices of insanity swirl within
 the whirlpool of a naked river.

 Where pine tar drips, like tears
from a bleeding conifer,
torn asunder by words,
not intended to be spoken,
 aloud.

 Cries,  heard of myself
 when I was young,
 trapped,
in vulnerability of a blossom
submerged in wax

Reaching high, where a cross
stitch pattern of lonely confusion
weaves it's way through
determination
etching out promises
 never kept

Promises of a breath that
 smiles,  ripping sunshine
from the mouth of those
who are tormented by
cyclamen and columbine
twice dead
Set aside, in a cracked jar,
 within a field of withered
daisies

Linger here,  with me
at the naked river where voices
of insanity swirl in the whirlpool
of time

 Slippage
 repeats itself it's the cog
 that is worn or is that me
that is me