Tissue
Why do we take these risks?
The climb?
Each time?
Up the side of a steep discussion,
the ascent
on a ladder of steam,
leaves us in the air
looking away from each other
looking over the protective walls
looking for hand-holds
outside the home
out in hostile territory.
Why do we need the speed?
Why do we thrive
on the pain?
Why do we drive our words
like sharp spikes
into the sides
of our arguements?
Into the winged feet of our freedom?
into the soft fronds
of our love?
The face of a clock,
the motion of the sun,
tissue paper...
the simplest things
are filled with terror.
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