backstroking in lazy circles, spinfloating around
the ceramic pond, a sunbathing fly winds the watchclock
twinklegems of the nearly medusaed unseen slinklife
somehow justifying eight legs of chaos theory at the
distant end of the world where a tick tock tailfinger
of god educates stringpattern kitchen tables into a
dustdance kaliedescope of light beams

her amused obsession magnifies disturbances
of air. she relishes each and every
flutterbuzz of the terror interstitials
caressed within desperate upstrokes and
tortured downstrokes. although her evil is
instinctive, it only paroxifies in such moments

ripples mask the
secret whimvictim,
and only one trace
of murder is left
to evaporscape