The lack, empty
Yet irreducible.
Centre of a knot.
Topology of my autistic brain.
Repetition of an Unconscious
theme.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The form is ever so slightly
changed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Reckless car drives under a Parisian sunset,
Death Drive.
(That last line was bad but allow it.)
(This poem was first written for Escapril 2021)
