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Useless Compass
Don't tell me that I am whole, perfect arc;
A temper, appearance, actions,
Affixed to a point.
Pray, don't tell me I am one;
Wanted to pick a direction.
Don’t you see,
Simultaneous, I am paradoxical,
Pointed North, East, West,
Wrenched ever southward;
Separate things at once.
On some days I awaken,
A closed circle and transparent face:
Fixate my needle on a describable feature,
Flagrant direction.
Decimal coordinates known, spoken, charted.
Today I am good.
Orient me; pick a direction.
Don't you see, shifting
temper, the world spins
me, my face struck and
stuck in positions
unfamiliar. Arrows all
directions,
planned paths undone,
Poles push and pull
my needle's point
in paradox.
Today I am what I have always been;
So twisted, so unkempt, unknown.
Spun rapidly, blurred in my confusion.