first it’s a bra, then a boot
then a ladder
then a broom
then a hat or a beak
then a pool
(exed-out)
this finger loom
on which I weave
divine my future
double and twist
a length of cheap jute
till it turns to a Moebius loop
unspools to form
an odd-shaped fruit
some new celestial body
whose portent’s unknown
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