She knows right and wrong,
true and false; part The Thinker
and part Pascal, she knows
which way to turn when slipped
a Rubik's Cube lover
all bright-boxed and shifty --
flip six times to the power of two
and shape a new dimension.
She's had a few hot-bloods before,
been steam-loved and unrolled,
laid tight down against the ground
where she'd lost track of herself.
Then for a while, she'd stand taller.
She's invested in fat dot-coms,
Lotto, and pretty long blonde boys --
chances with nothing left to lose --
she's wondered if logic threw her
over, easier than a last minute,
than Monday's black dye-back job.
Her nails are Jet-Set Red
but the base coat's a fiber seal.
At night she sits with a blank-paged book
reciting Nietzsche to herself --
she's kept good notes in the corners
of her eyes and the curl of her tongue.
Now it all falls forward on tomorrow.
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