DNA

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Twisting
in the breeze
around
and around
a double
helix
winds up
another day
tight like
a broken
spring on
an old alarm
clock, a
ticking time
capsule
waiting for
another
chance
burst open,
airing out
dirty laundry
all strung out,
a lonely
ringer t-shirt
caught
in a tornado,
praying
like a preacher
caught in
a sting operation,
trying to find
a way out
of the trap
that is human
misery
that we all
drink by
the glassful,
ipecac syrup
forcing the
technicolor
vomit of strip
malls, nail
polish and
electrodes
from our gut.

(To see the visual version
of the poem click here: DNA)

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