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Replying to a comment on:
Slam. (Free verse) by darby pyn
Expose my figure in a kneeling pose my arm extended to
your shoulder palm cradling the back of your
neck. the other pressed hard against the floor for
balance. eyes connected never losing attention
while my back suppresses the blows of the repeating
cycle. a blind rotation with no care for obstacles and restraint.
I rise quickly. stiff with determination pull you up
on to your feet. you pant, your complexion red from exhaustion
you reach for your knee damaged from the fall. squinting hard,
teeth clinched so much pain! I react without thought.
lift you over the moving border and watch the tide guide you
above the crowd to the front of the stage. at first sign of
retrieval I raise my hand and smile a goodbye.
arms soaked with blood and perspiration. a wall of bodies
melt behind the lights frame with a hundred silhouettes in motion.
tart adrenaline. my skin tastes like salt. tears of joy.
arm and arm a connected mass with too much energy
and the perfect outlet.
glass children. sharp, transparent and fragile. jagged
edges swing like a pendulum with a loud warning.
impatient for action, eager for participation, starving for
reality always fueled by emotion. so arrogant with our cynicism
we annoy each other pointing out the others hypocrisy. scorn, curse,
spit
then shake our heads and laugh. proud of our sardonic sense of
humor that keeps it all in perspective. the meaning of our protest,
the conviction of our discontent.
as long as ego and fashion stretch the ceiling to hide the sky
and paint stars on an artificial night there will be contempt.
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