parading light poured through bicycle spokes,
laughed about itself as it broke, wedges on a tile,
tiles after tiles, hesitating out into lost sight.
Then the very last light, that sighed a flume of fright,
pray, the last one of the night, bit upper lips,
that are held in place by lower teeth,
pray, the last one of the night, bit upper lips,
near the point of pain of puncture,
nearly up to spilling point,
nearly but not quite.
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