The Falling Man
You tumbled down the stairs and crunched
your neck like a celery stick; legs erect, arms
splayed. It was such fun to see you hurting,
that first time surrender Sunflower-style,
stem frozen, facing eastward.
I stood and watched your eyes conk out,
pop off, sprout wings. There was no sadness,
no dupery, just a brash farewell celebration.
The type of party you only have when you’re
old and mad, when you stop biting your lip
or stop caring about bills, people, cars.
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