Behold
the whirligig statue
in Piccadilly Circus
Anteros of the roundabout
(i. e. traffic circle)
a god crippled
by dreams of revenge
and of removing himself
from the spindles
that hold him down
the shaft that connects him
and hopping off his base and
crossing the threshold
of the Underground
flitting
down
the stairwell
and hopping a train
to anywhere that love blooms.
Butterfly wings make you
dream that way.
Yes, I have seen
the Virgin of Ballinspittle
rock and pulsate
on her pedestal
and I suspect she jumps off
when no one’s looking
and thumbs a ride to Cork.
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