The other side of push is the pull,
the get close pull away insanity
of never really landing
or resting.
A tightrope act on the brink
of humpty dumpty, despite the great men.
A list of pointing fingers turns back upon itself,
mace in the mirror,
cooking grease splattered on face,
over
and over
and over again
like mice on the circular rack,
blind with fatigue.
Exhausted by this 50-yard dash that has no finish line,
round and round again passing the first step
until all that is left is the collapse and surrender,
once again,
back at the beginning of
“our lives had become unmanageable.”
© Sabrina Santa Clara, 2012