If the reason that I keep winding up where I began
Is not that I have not gone anywhere,
And that instead, the slow traverses of elliptical leanings,
Never quite sure if the straight lines that could easily cross time,
Six to one and half the other,
Are actually straight lines,
But rather angled leanings, bending to the whim
Of the inevitable progression I must make,
And am always making;
Only to wind up
Where I began;
Thinking that everybody knows this is nowhere,
But everybody wouldn’t know nowhere if it knew them;
And I keep thinking that here and now
Looks so familiar because I’ve been here before?
I have not.