Here’s a Hint: I Always Guess Wrong

I’ve been coughing up epiphanies
with a caving posture and shaking
fingers— leaving golds and ebonies
smudged on the eyelids of waking
pages.

It is the brink of something.
In the form of brilliance or insanity,
a downward spiral or a pirouette.

As we watch this dancing vanity,
we both hope our’s the better bet.

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