One more dusty rotation around this earth, following deep grooves with stories that suggest this ain’t my first rodeo. I can’t manage to keep hold of a single thing they boast of worth, but I have a finger on my awareness, and that’s a start. Meanwhile, the universe simmers and bubbles, unsteady— her shaky fuse lit and ready to go. Restlessness and an urgency felt with every passing second, but she hasn't told me why. And when I squint for a solution, all I make out are muted colors and shapes with no edges. Abstract suggestion of a journey I know I was born to grab by the lapels— to collect lessons from grooves and their dust and gut feelings— to allow them to transform my armfuls of nowheres to somewheres. So, I tighten the grip of my thighs on this carousel horse of mine, careful not to let the circles ride *me.