A Good Question

Should I kill myself
or join the circus,

Because I can't seem to find
poetry, love or god.

I stand here dumbstruck,
admiring wheels,
admiring sand, and grass,
admiring words that make turns
so that things happen
in my head

but in the end
it is all process,
we are all in process,
and it is our asses
that are on the line.

Do you want to come to
the end at last,
the same way you began,
a shadow come to rest
and nothing else?

It's a good question.