Circular

Snake scares me every time I ride by.

I know, he’s dead.

Caught up with an old friend.

Thought of the past.

Riding bikes then.

Around the driveway.

Existential discussion with my brother  as we pedal about.

Is it possible to be “here” or “there”?

Nine years old.

Circling the driveway.

Plagued by mystery.

Twenty.

Circling driveways.

Plagued by mystery

So much anxiety in the constant constant.  

So of course the snake frightens.

So terrible to see everything.

Everyday. Same.

Monotony is not broken by old memories.

No.

It is deepened.

The past has its own circles.

No escape I’m afraid.

Only to die the ghost snake.

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