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Midas
March 20, 2013
And when the golden thread dwindles from my fingertips
to puppeteer my tongue to dance behind my lips,
beautiful streams fall slick like waterfalls
spewing from alleviated gravity where
nothing falls at all.
And as my fingers work
and the streams sputter to my feet
I wonder how long until I drown
and why the thread tastes so
sweet.
© Lukas D., Conway, AR
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