November 1
For bending leg,
I know we all know
the bend bended more
than leg.
November 2
For bending this leg I know
she pointed point three off
marking the point with ink.
I felt error ooze from my knee
creeping across the beam like lava.
The moment I lost gold
mistake swallowed beam.
November 3
For bending that leg I know
her insides tumble while her smile bends
mechanically at both ends. The crescent slice
pulled across her perfect face, she leaps
stretched on the long leather
beam—motorized form, brushing
the surface, suspended moments far
above the plain polished
would be no mistake—mistake oozes
through us, leaking everywhere.
November 4
For bending the leg I know
I should be sorry. I gripped
the beam, strangled
the edge and pulled fabric
tight, almost ripped
myself—but not enough strength,
I lost motivation, too much
responsibility!—I released,
relaxed my grasp, energy
creeped through aching foot
shin, quad and somewhere in between
bend let out a sigh.
November 5
For bending this leg I know
I need release. I should
be sorry for the bend,
no longer threatens me
the moment I lose gold.
November 6
For bending our legs
we get bent
backwards at the gym
we repent, reflecting
while sweat and blood drip
down equipment, evaporating
before smacking
floor.
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