Little Wheel

Something different in inhabiting
space when you hunker down, the escarpment
of things to hold downhill all knowing or

to expedite escape, a night closed up
like a house or the hand that catches you,
the net that trips you up, impediments

bearing the wear of your mind, we must say
its little wheel gone back and forth and round,
now there’s your only mojo all worn down.

. . .

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