A Pome a Day for a Year

The corridors of time swirl like Escher,
a spiral kaleidoscope of dolly zooms
pulling back on your life
to hit this specific moment.

Exasperated, frantic, panicked,
the room spins like a carousel
as chatter hits and punctures
all semblance of truth.

Begging authority for closure,
for satisfaction, for help,
you small little lamb, adrift
on the seas of unconscionable outcomes.

Morose lamb,
the mood plumbs the depths,
an oubliette ensnaring you
and all your forfeiture.