the creaky boards of my attic skull whisper in dust
as the lithe thoughts of movement tread sunlight through cracks
to fall through neurones as loose blue fire of surge
rolling down spine through valve heart and hungry gut
to make hands dance in delirium spastication
and feet do the jig of saint vitus the king of flux
we are trying for stillness in the heart of the drift
waking out of the dream with sleep-blind eyes
to touch possibility wound in the ribbons of the game's unwinding
conclusion, contusion: an offering of red petals

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