Circular Journey


Heat. The sun beats. Drum. A rhythm required.
Wanted. Love. A heart so sweet. Always desired.
Wanted. A flat? A convict? Unfurnished or dead.
A coffin. Does new life begin?
A starting guns din. Noise music.
The food of love? Been here.
Ah, but a different hear. Now were back with sound.
Noises again. The poem goes round and round.
Of ammunition, on orders to fire.
Have you guessed the first line is my desire.
Fire. A flame.
A source of heat. And from where all this came.