Yesterday, and tomorrow, and the whole anxious slew of a free fall.
I want four walls, and two cats, and a pretty lamp to lay my shadow behind
But none of that is mine.
I’m too far up, sailing through the present
For the future to lasso my ankles the way I want it to
And yank my flakey fate
To one of many platforms
And land.
I’m a trapeze artist.
They only clap when I land.