I footslog
at loggerheads with myself
just like a mad dog
that bites its own tail.

I plot a lese majesty but
is the monarchy a
travesty or is it
me?

Moving on to the stadium
it radiates,
a symposium under an open sky,
I wonder why
I am here.

Then a cheer echoes from the throats
of those dressed ties and fancy coats
and floats noisily,
just like the ocean that crashes lazily
into a sea wall.

I fall,
a thermometer and
try to gauge the temperature,
it's as cold as a tomb and no room
for the footslogger or the tail he
tries to chase.

The sound of the clock that turns
around a closed in universe
appears worse in the mornings
when I wake.