It Feels Like (insert word)

(Insert words) is spinning out of control,
a twitter trolling the dark, early morning
hours, a wedding ring spinning on a bar top,
a five-cent coin spinning on a table bumping
a coffee cup, bouncing off a spoon, sputter-
ing, stopping, a copper-head penny on the
dirty floor. Don’t pick it up; let it rattle;
let it roar. Walk out the door. Watch out for
the troll tweeting in the dark, early, morning
hours. Women, sweating and spinning in a
spinning class, look out the glass into
the dark, forbidding morass.

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