The Swirl

The words get twisted and repeated

They bounce and imprint

Over and over

Their meaning was clear

In the sick heat of the fever

Sometimes sounds echo

Will not leave

Until they decide to fade

Is this how it starts

I guess if

It were starting

I wouldn’t know

The key is

Ignoring that

Which is not real to others

Because it’s all real

To you

Gene G. McLaughlin 2012

Categories PoemsTags , , , ,

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