Fairground.

The world is a spinning mess
of rainbow. The grass
Is above my head; the sky
Below my feet where candy floss clouds
Blend into flashing lights, blend
Into the shining faces of children
Greedy for exhilaration.

The noises deafen me
Laughter and music and screaming and
The crunch of shoes on gravel.

It’s as if the people are being
Massacred
And are enjoying it.

I like to spin.
The surroundings becoming a Pollock
dancing before my vision;
The sharp, tight feeling in the throat
The dizziness.

I especially like the dizziness.

It is here relationships are made.
An arm around the shoulder
Hair off the face
As she vomits up her doughnuts.
They’ll laugh about it in twenty:
“It was the dodgems’ fault.”

There is nothing like it on the planet
An assault on the senses
The juxtaposition of pleasure and fear

The gentle violence of the fairground.

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