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No More Worming

I feel the grit and do an about face.
I turn to the right for space.
To the left for haughty disgrace.

I spin about and guess.
My fortune seems to rest
hugging the ground at best.

But the probe turns upside-down.
I fall through and all around
the earth buries me in sound.

Never will I move
except to make a groove.
I always come and remove.

And now I’m at an end.
For once let me extend
into the night and bend.

Published in Poetry