Buried alive
Beneath a thousand sighs
Incoherent thoughts leap
From yesterday’s ideas
Do you think you can think your way out of this?
Around we go
Like sheep in a square
To water
To food
And back again
Following a trail of triangles
Made with small
Sharp
Feet
Cyclic as the moon
The tides
We think we think
But really
We are all yesterday’s thoughts regurgitated
Over and over
And the day before that
Looking back
Walking, we look to a forward
Bent
Skewed
By the groove
Of habit
And around it goes again
