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Nickols
Poems
Sep 2012
Clandestine
A circle spinning;
Forever round.
Down a hole-
to underground.
Spinning faster-
blurring faces.
till they're all twisted--
twisted up backwards.
Facing downwards--
through the roof,
that is underground.
Up is down,
and down is up.
loosing grip,
on plastic society.
Acid burning,
till it tickles.
a rotting apple--
tasted sweet.
but wait,
where am I going again?
Oh yes,
Spinning circles,
there below.
through the roof,
hidden underground.
Someone, I think *she* lost *her* mind.
© Victoria
#dizzy
#rhyming
#crazy
#clandestine
Written by
Nickols
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