I twist you in my hand
slim metal
turning around
to face the music
of my musing.
Now you look like a pretzel
Then, again, a rigid snake
Inanimate
cold
steely jawed
without emotion
As I doodle with my mind
the table vibrates
and you move
slowly
to the drum of a distant hand
tapping to a beat
I cannot hear.
Will I be this bored
when the music stops?
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September 08, 2005
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Rick's Poetry Book
February 2006
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