Just when I was getting accustomed

to the unimaginable ideas

of bizarre triangles

of all shapes,

I soon realized that this is

not the problem.

The problem is,

in fact,

the circles

that never end. . .

They just keep tempo with the

melody that happens to be

playing at the moment.


The melody that seduces you into believing

any thing. . .

any lie. . .

any hope. . .

The rhapsody that moves you,

fills your lungs with fire,

sends you pirouetting toward the edge.

The mournful chorus that sends

your heart plunging to the rocks below.


But can I,

in good faith,

place the blame on a song?

on a shape?

Can I lay responsibility at

your feet and then walk away?


The triangles may have fallen

into place by circumstance.

But we have the onus

to break the cycles

before we,


shatter. . .

15 January 1994


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