High wire

I’m often hanging by a string

thin elastic & it pings me

in & out of love.


The sea, the sky, endless

moments passing by

there is no ‘’if ‘ or ‘’why’’


we recreate these fantasies

to live to love to die: but in that final hour

just who am I?


I’m often clinging to that cliff

flesh & blood & breathing genes

left by random lovers years ago


it brought me life, it brought me loss

the spirit of this wounded world

where old friends turn to prophets


ground bones to dust:

I hear them call me in the night

but I’m still bouncing on this string


so thin it stretches to the brink

oblivion creeps in:

there is no ‘’how’’ or ‘’why’’


belief is only that :

my knowledge frail

I beat myself & scan the sky


for Angels wings.


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