And suddenly a string of paper clips stands on the desktop,
Writhing like an open flame,
Yet intricately the seizure moves,
Forward, toward, taut, trilling,
Time zigzagging between and around the stack like a black fly,
And I see the fly bouncing off of invisible walls,
One after the next,
And it sees me.
They push me, the hands of ripples on water,
Push my face against the mirror,
Push me through myself.
But the paper clips suck up my vision,
I watch them intently, with the eyes of eager children,
I follow the swaying and flickering,
My mouth catches flies.
Amazement as the tower of paper clips dances,
But now it moves quickly, picking specs of dust from the air,
Snapping at the walls like a wet towel.
And then it crumbles onto itself, softly,
Singing the final note until it is motionless.
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