Assume
This tilting wheel
Is a ride
That’s almost
Over

Where its quick
And even motions
Make vomit
Seem
Like spit

When hurling
Through each spin
Or fall
From highest
Places

As I brace
For sudden impact
While scenes
Keep turning
Fast

And believe
That cycle’s change
Is release
From whirling
Notions

Where heights
And steady inclines
Are the thrills
I’ve come
To seek,

So twisted
In their reach
Of absurd
Yet constant
Passage

Around
One central
Focus
That’s bound
To disappoint

If believing
Every twirl
Has fate
For someone
Different

Or hope
To make things
Better
Between each choice
We make –

Still waiting
For our chance
On an end
Which never
Falters

If controlling
Expectations
Is the faith
That’s making
Sense

Before
This rolling
Stops
So the nausea
Fades abruptly

Allowing
Such rotation
As one quick
And last
Hurrah.

– J. Pigno