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The unstable poem

It lurks at the edges, on the periphery of my vision

slipping, slithering, undulating like a serpent

tantalising.. taking flight,

swooping, diving, forming figures of eight.

And just when all its parts seem

to be falling in place,

along comes a Harrier

picking words off like prey,

dispersing the rest

over shimmering waters of the mind.

If only I could lure it

into my gingerbread house..

But the poem insists

on being a wave and a particle

at the same time.


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