FLARE: The Flagler Review- Möbius Strip

By Joe Carvalko

As the centuries turned one into another,
we lost the gift of ancients
for hearing muted primal screams,
for seeing Munch’s faceless shriek—
the unmistakable precursors
of everything spiraling into darkness.
I did not see her wane
and wander in the whirligig of despair,
until they threw the keys away.
They took her to the place
where lights bounced-off
linoleum worn and polished,
behind metal doors
with a window—
a lock turned,
behind which people twirled, laughed,
lifted dresses over their heads
or sucked their thumbs and bawled.
I searched for tapestries
of blues, births, deaths,
that might yield clues
known to a prior life,
threads that lead to “why or where?”
But, like a skein of twine
wound into a möbius strip;
I can trace
neither.

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