her arms the arrows
that turn. They spin
in the direction of
the wind. She sits high
up there for all

to see. No one can
predict in which direction
she’ll go. She vacillates. It’s
a different show, one moment
to the next. Even herself

she leaves perplexed. She’s taken
by force, on a merry-go-
round. She’s vain. Anyone can
see. With a **** for a head, she’s
raised herself to be released.