endless loop
the circumnavigation of four,
not horsemen,
but just as foreboding
recurring
apocalyptic ribbon
visions rebound quickly
plunge deeper into
more
of
the
same
isolation
evolved of a curious mixture
the turning over of stones
miscalculations of
time
upending our supposed bliss
the poetic half-life of
absolute
insurgence
© 2011 A.g. Synclair
