a sight inside stagnation
I am a gathering of spirits
struggling at restraints
drunk (upon tiptoes) of the clock
and swaying in an illustration
of A.M. metamorphosis
the flesh of this effort
has been peeled away
(seven ribbon increments)
by the licentious bleating muse
and offered to Williams' aperture --
an indecision before the fold
and the ache of my eyes
has been momentarily diverted
to the scrape of bone on pen
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