The Numbered Circle Poem by David Bayless

The Numbered Circle
Rocks would cease to skip; ripples never formed
Devotion to your mask surely man's greatest mistress
Stricken by the beauty of a conceived lie
To and throw you cast your dubious spell
Existence the inevitable offspring of a cheating wife; plurality your knife
A blind fugacious journey, oh yes, tis been revealed
Vulnerability-the deceiver weans his thrown
The sun has set. The dial is no more
You charlatan; your antics no longer measure
I may have stumbled in the great somnambulistic state
When I wash my hands of the, the concrete shall wither to an immortal sea