Carousel Gary Layton Poetry

by Gary Layton

Published in Issue No. 271 ~ December, 2019

The lurching loop

over and


A screaming song and

dizzy gallop of a

dead horse,

I am familiar.

We are moving,

and never.


Turning somewhere

gilded and


Somewhere stained by

sugar and spills,

cotton-candied fingers,

a rusty novelty

marred by

wide-eyed brats,

the nauseous burn of

too-bright lights,

and dripping sweets.

Somewhere there is a child

crying to leave,

their parents taking

blurry photos from the fence.

A drunk idiot at the helm

with cheap tattoos

and cigarette breath

steers nothing.


My mind- a carousel,

spinning again;

I am there,

stuck with my ticket stub,

gum on my shoes,

holding the mane of

some animal

reeling and bolted to the



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I'm underweight, underpaid, and overly contemplative. I play the guitar and write creatively. I like the X Files and I eat my cereal without milk. Some nights, I dream of a world where mayonnaise doesn't exist.