Time itself is thieving meaning thru a kind of thrill of repeat
like ferris wheel redundant thrill effaces leaning compass points by forced repeat there’s nothing new in cycling tower by night where briefest height rotates back to depth in grooved careening up again
you notice and feel it alone
by night just right when carnival ends without friends all gone but you with that false forward plunge then back and up like chance’s swooping curve of luck to top unhurt then down like consciousness relentless a forward plunge to nothingness save gulping end to how it felt
for how it must have felt for old man Ferris himself to see play
of parasoled dames with gents in vests with fobs on silver chains
redundantize to death all shame.

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