Zywa
The bowl
The bowl wiggles
hypnotising light
and dark up and down
Taps of my nail
Pressing the edge down
Slowly following the round
Waves reflect the sun
Fluctuating light
Wiggle bowl
With a stick, I hit a vibrating current
into the bronze, the wooden table
and from my finger to my heart
into my blood, my waving blood
light and dark hum
the maternal tone
of my life up and down
breathe every second
in and out and do not fade
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