and round
and round
I g(r)o(w)
(monkey chasing weasel).
Too long on the wheel
I’ve gone wonky,
lopsided, skew-whiff.
I am weary with washing
oil, soil and blood
out —
damned spots.
I wear them like battle scars,
wreaths and stars.
I’m a lost cause,
a bootless errand,
a snipe hunt,
a waste of time.
The eyes leak,
the shoulders sag,
the wiring crossed,
the arches fallen,
the angles are worn round.
Defying the physics
of dimensions and space,
the contents
(more vibrant than Sirius)
outsize the vessel,
often boiling over the brim,
spewing prattle 
(and spittle),
tilting at windmills
and wafting wonderment
at the sky.

Raise that pinky;
let’s have a cuppa to grace.


Over at dVerse, Sarah is challenging us to write a self-portrait poem.
Why don’t you join the fun!