I seem to be tapped in
to the music of the spheres, a bit. Hanging
on to the edge of the glass
by my moistened fingertip, swinging
in a rapid helicopter circle
sending out a shining, ringing tone
sending out a round sound in all directions,
piercing, but not lout - clear,
like the rounded ring of glass it sings from -
and at everyinstant threatening (oh
not seriously!) to slip off
and go flinging me
out, into and through
the drywall
walls.
Well I suspect there is no
real such risk as that.
These metaphors have a way of rapidly spinning out
of control into crises, before, falling
flat, perspective is restored
and one goes, "oh, sweet,
I was just typing"
mind, wandered -
no danger
all clear.
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