a capsizing rotation
axis spinning on solitary grins
the fingernails grating
scratching for that foundation
or this upside turn
the wind is howling
and ears a ringing
heads are spinning
for that small fact
of gray, gray matter
looking too truthfully
to oneself,
wandering astray
beside gravitational pulls
the fear of
searching too closely
maybe look in the mirror
see who is standing
behind morrow's wrong
who have been holding
the keys to the door
and the lock
in a
pocket