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Are you really sure that a floor can’t also be a ceiling?
We replicated your experiments
in some elementary school classroom,
made delicate patterns
from circled & inverted forms.
Now you come to me
a gifted black & white postcard,
your staircases looping themselves
with infinite regularity.
exist? draw an object
Pencil me a space cubby, please,
a time hole where a woman could fit.
I tuck nothing-fluff in after me,
seal edges & delete evidence of my escape,
roll until ink jet black covers all.
You can tessellate my leavings,
should you find any that matter.
let me be junk
that flies to outer limits
where a man with (too many) arms
hugs himself, disappears.