Spinning.
This world 
turns in circles
ellipses that make
even the steel of stomach weak.
No rhythm of pattern
No repetition of sequence
Just chaotic flips
that leave you either
arms and legs sprawled in all directions
or all balled up knotted around yourself.
So when does it end?
Or when does the speed slow?
I’m listening
trying to hear my way to the quiet places.
I’m listening
closing my eyes to give more
sight to my ears.
Just listening
for the quietest sounds
the quietness between all the loudest
thumps, bangs, grumbles, and anger.
I heard a glimpse
maybe a trickle
like the hush of a stream
like the stillness in the waves
like the wash of the falling rain.
If I find the movement of peace,
the blue gentleness,
the calm liquid movement of lull,
I’ll jump in and sink some
down some
until my ears are soothed with quiet
and my mind is saturated with peace.
Just long enough
to forget
to believe something else
to stabilize the gyrations
that so long have pressed me against the sides
immobilizing me
by the fierce speed
of my existence.