Bard’s Circle


We run around in them as if
they were a map. We run everywhere
with our pens waving and an
occasional quill.
No one stops us. Editors want
to meet us, but we can not stop running
searching for the perfect zero.
We tried taking geometry
and they wanted us to matriculate
to physics but we did not
have the math.
We write and run in orb-like pathways,
burning rubber like teenagers squealing
tires, ending up where we began.
Innocence is our code word, beauty
our motto, our love is strange and blue,
but we keep lots of it in our pockets,
satchels, manila envelopes, scribbled
on bits of found paper, or rewritten
on your heart’s sleeve.
Love us for our dedication to the circular.
Believe in us for the motion of our lives.
We deal in the hard capital of words.
Occasionally, we spin the chambers
of both drawn and aimed Colts, aim
and shoot you with similes, but mostly,
like twin oak handled sidearms, we keep them
holstered and riding low and easy
at both hips.
Most people do not understand us. Try
as we would, we are unable to stop the orbit
of our days. We fail to meet the minds
of our readers, too engaged in whirling ideas,
obsessed by letters that have no space to begin
or end. Basically, we bear the burden
of sojourning, too busy getting around.

© allets 2023
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no comments or critique sought.
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