like one thin spiral
ribbon
i trace my thumb
along the
twisted line of
this whole sordid affair,
and
all its festive little pieces.
i clutch the end
of it,
dragging one
at a time
with my
little finger across
the open blade
of
a pair of scissors.
i watch
it spinning madly
(out of control),
like somebody's life,
and
i cling
to this eternal thrill
of putting happy little bows
with
happy little curls
on all these
final, empty things...
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