To Spin Or Not To Spin
Static transporter taunts me
infinitely across a room of mirrors,
reminders of necessity. Cold
motivators of perpetual movement.
Door closed, the only out is miles
away and in the exact location.
Prisoners present, assuming the position,
wait for instigative whistle. Detonation
of energy, blur of sneakers, knees,
sweat. Somewhere blisters form, calluses
burst. Nothing stops
but thoughts. Body is reduced to motion's
muscle memory propels past will. Desire
to stop, exhaled repeatedly. An hour
flies into another signal. Release.
Door re-opened. Legs hesitate, stumble,
begin to remember the feel of solid ground.