All our lives go in circles
Nothing is ever straight and just plain true
There’s always angles and different takes
That go along with all that you give.
Sometimes that’s a great gift – a real surprise
Coming back to the same place again and again
I like that kind of ice cream just the way it is
There is no need to change it for me.
But life isn’t about ice cream or gifts or surprises
There’s so much pain and death and horror to endure
Just one blessed day at a fucking time after another
Give me strength again and again.
Why was I so stupid – again? and again?
Am I uniquely incapable of learning from my own mistakes
There’s no consequence more inescapable than the
Natural consequence of being me.
In more than fifty years you’d think I’d improve
I’ve been alive of more than one hundredth of all recorded human history
They told me that mistakes were the essential ingredient to learning.
My own perversity tears me up.
Oh to be a character in a really good book !
In books people learn, they grow and they improve
They understand things and profit by them
Things resolve and the story ends
But my real life doesn’t imitate art, not hardly at all
I gave up long ago hoping for a happy fairy tale ending
But I just stay here turning on my heels
Like some deus ex machina ballerina.
Or perhaps an old war horse carved from aged wood
Doomed to traipse around and around the same old circle
Seeing the same sad old merry-go-round
Until my tired old ride breaks down.