Flexible Fringe

She is twisting back upon herself,
this way,
that—
or she is in the space between,
the center empty,
trapped inside the
extreme curve of release,
the arch, the crook, the compass—
charming the ouroboros
till it surrenders its immortal grasp,
slays itself to live again
that the first should make the last and
want for nothing beyond the infinite self:
outside, she is nothing
but eternal
and dreaming of parallels.

Her heart is locked in links of
brilliant, burnished, flashing and
fluorescent
caliginous black, wide streams battling
the inevitable ebb and flow of yearning;
her inclination?
this way,
that—
winding widening streams that drown
(or feed)
her dreaming.

Condemned to repeat
this endless path,
or win free of the
closed system submissive
identity progressing toward
absolute entropy—
these finite possibilities
narrowing:
creation, sustenance,
*dissolution*
in conclusion, she is one,
singular, the same as you—
a looping line
bordering redemption and
compliant convolution,
planting her mortal coil in the
loam of life
whose soil gives birth
to die and be born again
in the amniotic seas of
irresolution:
this way,
that—
the answers are hidden,
buried within
the crease,
the bend, the furrow
the groove of rapidly shifting skin
till she must build momentum by
destroying or
creating—
abandoned, taken in,
waiting for what is
destined, an imminent course,
intractable or
yielding.