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The walls of this place are heaving,
fast and irregular,
they expand and contract,
flashing arms and light.

The floor is shimmering
with the mass of bodies,
not flow but turbulence;
some centripetal eddy
throws us together.

“Can you feel the rhythm?” you say :
mad fibrillation
dancing in your eyes
as we congeal.

If we get out of here alive
I’ll paper the sky with miracles.
We press together
and I reply:


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