it's a busy
season.
a busy
world.
it's a hive
shaken
and struck
with a stick.
the air
is a buzz.
there is no
time.
there is no
second
not filled
with rush
and hurry.
it's a race
without
a finish line,
a marathon
of sprints,
it's a blur
of circles,
a ball of stretched
and knotted
twine
bouncing down
the stairs.
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