Play (in the) Ground
Another day invites me,
my hand seized
with life-wrenching
celerity
wrist is encapsulated
like the grasp of children on a playground
their bantam hands gripping
the swings
they clutch chains like
their last breath
the monkey bars
as they hang,
Established
by their own strength
or lack there of
brown mulch
muffling their falls
so they are
preserved
granted the privilege
of more time being swallowed,
Frivolously
they skip
and saunter,
awaiting their next
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