entangled in this spangled spin you are but a single sequin a petty bangle a subordination but nonetheless you always glisten

again i get to sit, unkept again i’m frittered, frayed i would leave the floor, quit being a rug, and simply stride away but i’m weaved...

A quotidian occurrence, my habitual gaze out the window. I study the trees that lie beyond the window pane. Out there, in that wonderland...