fingers crossed
and behind backs
the talks are straight
the deals are inked
invisibly, between
the cracks, between
the lines, we read
our minds and find them
black, inscrutable
abstruse, opaque
we look concerned
with leaps we take
steps at a bound
not knowing whether up
or down, the staircase
slopes - like all our hopes
trapped like a mouse
in some mad M.C. Escher
house, perspective twists
as down it slides - or up
it climbs?
and who decides?
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