In this red room I circle,
Wheedle the few
Words that break through,
Weave them, knead them, mold and massage them
Into meanings that might
Lift this leaden lumpen carapace.
Tracing the nautilus, thinking
Deeply, nerves pores senses open to
Quantum turbulence, to
Your intentions, to
My grace, essays, defeat.
In this red room
I wait.
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