The Imperial Red Yo-Yo
It sleeps, but turns too much to dream
It makes an empty cradle,
Goes for a walk in the air
And it comes back.
It’s only red plastic,
Turning around its insides
These are the dances it knows:
To rise and to fall
To snap at its caster
To fall to the floor
Faster
With more force than before
It dies on the wire, rewinds
Spins and sings
In so many cycles
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