sown together by snakes of rain
we're dancing in a fever
on the bridges of light-beams
that stretch from frozen
moment to frozen moment
never reaching the end
floors blinking in sync
to some new Earth's counter-spin,
some pinball machine
upside-down in the ceiling
sending signals to the pulse of time.
We're a twined hook holding
what slips away and is bloodied,
holding what does not slip away
in the slump of hours
or the sulk of rhyme.
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