is NOT the space between two points/
distance/is a tearing sensation/
rending hearts and continents apart/
leaving us to say goodbye/like we mean it/
far too frequently

it
is
a
dropping
sensation.
the
falling
feeling

when something old&expensive hits the floor/
when your foot forgets the ground/and is surprised/
by the next step

passive passion is set to see
built from nails red from blood or rust
from the deft and bright sinks helplessly
but watched by those who care in disgust

gift from god a ticket away
handed by those aside the tracks
shovel, conduct, promise to repay
alone with people made out of wax

flapping and jumping all day long
read and remember how it’s done
even sing with arms someone’s proud song
to realize is what makes it fun

dreams from skill and effort end in thud:
if you water dirt you’ll just grow mud