the gossip is about not caring to hold

any shape        no shape at all

beneath me the earth threatens to lose its grip

overhead bruised sky grumbles with burdens of war

behind me hate kicks the can down a cratered road

my soul a flat bladder still aches

my heart is hard against itself

hurting more than any beating should

short-sighted greed appears

my comfy old greed

bumbling its way to death

nursing its need to hold on

its craving for more

in this situation

waiting for ground to slide away

leaning back on belief / toe testing the edge

awake

precarious

Poem by Jo Mariner / Photo by Emerson Quinn, licensed as CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.