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Napping, suspended                                                           the persona and the fear                                                         I think                                                                                high up, metal framing his silhouette                                         against a blueness speckled white                                          a pose struck against frightened nature.                               

Or it just might be stupidity                                               bred by muscles and hard hats                                    immortal lunching, packed in metal tins                                  to be eaten and demolished                                              dozens of stories above the world.

Each story is a count                                                            of those who have not been                                               able to, despite the pushing of                                           luck                                                                                     to balance, to dance with life                                                so high above the earth                                                      and instead rejoined it                                           

premature.

 

Poetry