Wound tighter than a tin clockwork toy
key unable to turn in either direction
cheap Woolworth’s watch over wound
abused, twisted one too many times
suspended, neither gaining nor losing time.
Silence, stored tension and waiting
for the final snap, everything released
unraveling in a single glorious explosive moment
something has got to give, and when it does
I will have a front row seat to the show.
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 
Exactly
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