another life

when you take the path that leads deeper into the well
you wake each morning with your jaw wired to a pentagram of stars
to the dynamo enshrined in the living room
under a shroud of tobacco and dragonflies
with its pendulous udders tuned to the rising wind
you reach for it with hands that grow into feet
and measure each stance as it follows the curve of the world
to emerge in sunlit regions of paper and wine
where it casts off its necklace of teeth and its cigarette ends
and is swallowed up by the ground

a thousand children have fallen from cliffs like these
clutching a wooden box or a teddy bear
their lives set out like the knots on a rope of years
that tremble before the storm

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