The Carousel Poem by Stephen Brian Brady
The Carousel
even if there's no-one there
deep in the darkest dreams
at the end of each kaleidoscope
the drowned-out horses' screams
coated in a sugar-glaze
bolted and insane
who's fingers spin the spinning-top
spitting fire and flame
who's crazy at the Wurlitzer
who still calls it a ride
the spinning faces circle
there's nowhere left to hide
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: crazy
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8/28/2026 2:10:10 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
