Kaleidoscope

With a crunch,

With a whistle,

With an eternal crackle

of Sisyphus’ stone,

that slipped once again

Rolling over and over

colored, sparkling,

icy glass bits

In the tightly locked prison

Of a kaleidoscope tube.

The patterns of destiny flow

into each other,

gradually erasing the corners,

scratching the window outward,

reflecting in impermanence

The rotation of time.

The benevolent eye

watches like Gagarin from the sky

at the flickering

while turning the world slightly.

If spun long enough,

the edges will fade,

The mirrors will blur,

The patterns become simpler.

The benevolent eye

smashes the pipe to the ground

and scatters the beads.

Gagarin will smile somewhere else,

And we’ll be left lying

In the mud.