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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Circular Logic

 

 

At the end of the cul de sac, beyond the radius of a street

light’s honeyed glow, sits a house and in the house

images run circles in a sleeping man’s brain.

 

In exactly one hour the long hand will have spun

full circle.  The alarm will sound.  He will stumble

toward the porcelain bowl, aiming poorly

 

at the small circle.  Those moments before coffee rises

in vapor from a round ceramic cup.  But now those spheres

of eyes are shut.  The brain’s playing movies against

 

concave bone, some fusion of yesterday, a fucked

up childhood and who knows what.  There’s a hand

turning a steering wheel before opening, before letting

 

the textured plastic disk slide, spinning across his palm

as the world rights itself.  Always this sensation

of turning wheels, guts churning, contents pinned

 

centrifugally to his ribs.  He’s rolling across asphalt –

in this recurring dream he’s never aware of a destination.

Beneath a blood red moon, our dreamer watches

 

the mishmash of images trapped in the diameter

of an eye.  Later the cylinder will hold a scene

of breakfast – beside a tiny round orange

 

will sit the morning paper, rolled and banded, waiting

for him to open it, to sit reading the classifieds,

pen resting in the loop he’s made with thumb and forefinger,

 

waiting to circle an opportunity.  The world bleeds

into the imagination.  His mind begins to take hold

of the story and suddenly there’s the car again,

 

turning, turning, onto a familiar road.

He’s headed home to the house at the end of the street,

under the extinguished light, whose metal post

 

warms under a pale white disk.  Hopes and failures

wait.  Programmed coffee drips through the aperture

rippling as it hits the surface.  He pulls closer

 

to his wife’s curved back.  Soon the world will crash

through this geometry, but for a few more minutes he’s content

to lift a knee, curling into an imperfect O.

 

                                                   —D.A. Gray
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