Vicious Circle

Resilience rose defiant on the crumbling stones.
The sun rose then fell into water where blood soaked
soil was washing its stains.

Circles of deception washed ashore, social circles gave
of their opinion, while broken wheels spin
spilling rescued treasure onto forgotten streets.
Bicycles drop their dead.

Mother paints on a pout while I hold a candle,
– can't get without – can't have without.
Grandmother carries the radio like a toothache
for silence is as deadly as the mud.