staring up at ceiling fans

how much of my life will be spent

staring up at ceiling fans?

wondering, as the time went

past like the blades

let the wooden flower arise

on gray paint; concrete ground

five petals, amidst, pollen lies:

the warm incandescent light

she sees through the shutter, full

the waves she sends lap against the shore

the blanket hugs as tight

the song resounds more

the soft glow of the keys

i lay back

the cord sends a tune

the street lamps dim

i think and it turns

it turns and i dream

i listen and it turns

it turns, i stare

the blades turn and turn

they keep their orbit

yet go nowhere

i think and think

i keep staring

yet