>Late, St. Scerb: Oh, You’ve Got My Attention

>so many things ache
at just the right moment

perhaps this is your clue
peer deeper, but crawl

first to the edge of time
swing out your head then

weakly it boils, the mirror
nothing more, pale magic

each churning growl a claw
a shriek, then a bark nearer

play thankful, some distance soon clearer
i cannot push, i will never push forth

but there you are, shot, yards wrestling inches
and then splash like a cough of startled finches.

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