Flung

flung

Not against the wall
But pivoted in free space,
I cling to the top bar
Straddling the air
In fear and anticipation,
Lunging long to flight.

Skinny mats over hardwood
Promise little bounce but,
An unencumbered eight,
Lungs can out-climb air,
Never found the ground
Before I met the light.

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About stevedsmart

Steve Smart is an information designer, poet and artist. View all posts by stevedsmart

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