Seventeen: Ariel Falling

Crushing cranberries I spin, ariel, zipping action to thought, zozzled but lucid.
It’s a curse, losing and finding and losing again, the key to an idea you might have
had once. Tomorrow the sun will rise again, the world never stops spinning and
the top in your head is magic. I am falling, ballerina straight, failing to keep that toe pointed,
fearful of the cold waters; far more fearful: what if it’s warm and I feel the urge to
dive, top-spinning head first, keys lost, sun faded and dipped, only to hit zero.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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