You snored in your dream of indifference

of taking for granted.

Thinking you own and not wanting to know.

You enjoyed running around in circles

but there are circles no more.

And the un-intoxicating wine

mixed with my bitterness to produce weariness.

We’ve been to this place before, me and myself.

What am I supposed to prove?

That an old horse rarely learns new tricks.

The difference is, this time I don’t care.

If my tricks don’t ring your bell,

go knock  on some other door.


the first sign

illusion is gone.

By tuttysan © 2008

Not a circle – a poem. Photo: Yellowstone National Park, WY.