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The Dime
a wheel spins so fast
it appears at rest
still and unmoving
with details blurred to a homogenous geometry

in these frantic details lost
perhaps is the cypher of panic
expansion and retreat
and of the sharp thread
between biochemical and psychokinetic

the turmoil becomes unbearably hot
but no one seems to notice
because it appears at rest
and it has worn such grooves from its spastic patterns
that perhaps escape is now impossible

we used to dream of stars
now we lay under them
and only wait to fall asleep