I circle. There's no way to enter. Castle? Palace?
Thing of beauty. Woman, but she can't be reached.
She does not speak. She turns away to order things
She's placed in order previously many times. She
Stares down at revolving rollers, rapt, autistic,
I surmise, and seemingly walled off from me.
I cannot get inside.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 27 times
Written on 2023-09-17 at 00:00
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