Vertigo

Carousels
in the carnival of your eyes.

Carousels,
carousels of dance, carousel of skirts.

Why can I see myself only
when these odd shapes are looking at me
in the distorting mirrors
of this maze?

What are these carousel of miming images
around me
volute like snails,
escalating on the vertigo stairs
of a hypnotic kenning?

Who does the clown,
-who's peering at me in perpetuum of these
blinking mirrors
from concave to convex-
see in me
that I yet to know?-

Why does it seem he identifies me more
than I ever could?

And the smell of your fragrance and phermone,
in the vertigo carousel of your womanhood.

Carnival
in the vertigo of your eyes
your skirt
your
moves!