tossed coin

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He says mind spins

and spins in the darkness of it’s shell

makes and unmakes itself

as a spider eats her skein.

 

That thought itself,

(a currency of threads)

is not the coin that spins

flipping choice after choice

but everything that coin could mean

between extra weight

and another mouthful.

 

It twists.

Can (seem to) writhe out of clutch

and scuttle

head for openings

which sense the holes in its home.

 

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