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,
ourselves,
shatter. . .
15 January 1994
