one

breathing body ~
primal desire,
inevitable response; a light grip
on light grafted onto
exhaustion.

two racing thoughts chasing themselves,
the other, always in its way; erode rage.
sweet and dry, thirst wakes my throat
to take morning.
sore and loose against
the bright.

what will i do in my quiet crisis?

foundation passing through me,
lost and found falling again.
slim as a first breath or a last
hope held tight to my chest unbound
at either end tightropeburns put raw
and rapping against this single
moment centered somewhere between my heels
and toes, resisting a stretch back
towards memory or forward, into future.
all i have is the dire need
for balance against a drop on every side
filled with sirens of natural
law and my shadowed, unnatural flaw
to just slacken and open
and fall.