Corks Rise

Like corks to the surface,
the thoughts do arise.
The ever dreaded reprise*
spread like scattered grits.

Why this circular thinking
when I thought this battle through?
How can I move, when it is ever new?
And fate guffaws, innocently blinking.

Among the biggest of my problems
with this circle shaped path
is a serious problem of math
it cannot align into columns.

One hundred and two plus one hundred
normally equals two hundred and two.
But not here and now, this do I rue.
Perhaps I’ve merely blundered.

Unfortunately not.

That would be far too easy.
And more than a little bit cheesy.
Maybe I’ve been wrongly taught?

Yes, there I go…
just as has been done from the start,
trying to blame another rather than own my part.
Oh, how I wish I could, don’t you know?

And so these thought-corks circle,
tormenting in their own little way.
Sinking now and again only to rise a new day.
Like my brother’s reminders of Jack Merkle.

*For clarity's sake, not because I doubt that you either already know what it means or could figure it out, I’ve chosen the second definition from (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/reprise), changing ‘action’ to ‘thought’ for my poem: a recurrence, renewal, or resumption of an action.