In a tangle
I am quickened
and hardened
and instant into
anachronism.
No seasons past
on paths unbeaten in
prison for treason
for no rhyme but reason.
As bud to bloom
to droop to tomb to atom
of core cocooned
in an engine.
That rises in bits
and bites and spins
an echo chamber
that lies verbatim.
Or tips each tap or snares
and snaps the traps that track
i
in my everyday froing and to.
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