No short loss;
no, less so, should the
free fall fall
short. Heard of expectations?
Sinking in expected
stations, situations, or plain old
sinkholes?
Close your eyes to imagine
fresh air, free feelings unrestrained,
feel that space, feel that nothing.
Kicking constrained by cloth swatches
tightly wrapping away
exemplified matches caught
up in all that
wishing. It is not I who
called the swaying, limping, chewing
meddler to me. Give me
no short path, unless
I fake.