Carnival of Rust

Wheel sitting

without moving in

a patient reverie

of things

that have transpired here

in the past. This

is a Carnival,

A Carnival of Rust,

of lust, of life, of

time lost in

A void. Nothing.

This is my

past and

my future,

slow. It creaks.

This is life, this is

lust, this

is love.



And the coaster

coasts

rails groaning in

support of its tread

and the

melancholy love of

two machines.

Nearby hisses one

lonely cotton candy stand,

its Point lost

to this, this

Carnival of Rust.

Perhaps it feeds a

History

a mass we

will never know.



And the Carnival,

This Carnival of Rust

knows.