by Alysa Obert
The interpellations of lives of lives
Spinning spinning ‘round spun
in separate spheres the membranes of our
bubbles stretch like the lungs every world
POPs the weasel or so that saying
goes to show us how a tinted
window on the Highway is no person at all but that
We are fabric mavericks knitted together eternally
Intertwined for a moment, each moment evading
creating lives but the silken sad uncertain
startles us so back to the deep
into the depths of the deep as we slink on
quoth the Raven nevermore we continue just
as before before we were alone and now alone
again so send just send me on my way.
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