Thursday, June 17, 2010

The Trapped

I am the wire hanger wroth
with manipulation from twisting
wrists who rather see me spooled,

Rapidly spun around her spindle,
a compressed coil stuck,
crushed from the chase,
chances dwindled through
malleable plans from the houses of fate,
whose revolving galactic swoons
fondle her stellar destinies with
reckless digits that fidget arbitrarily
on empyrean puppeteer mores,
setting blatant flames between
prone shoulder blades.

Sparks reverberating through
my rattling nervous system with
several jump starts as we part,
I lurch stark, keyed-up like
a wind-up toy, die-cast dummies
tottering, trying not to boil alive
in the backlash of celestial happenstance.

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