How I Feel in the Light is a Fiction
Gym chat around floor work.
My hands are sore from the lifting the bar
and the lights flicker.
The triggers take second place to legwork,
keep my ego behind the wall.
The routine monitored on my wristband
linked to a backpack computer charts progress.
The phone plugged into the wall charges.
The concept of letting go is impossible,
like nothing, once defined, becomes.
I’m so sad by myself in the heat,
the parted red lips against my cheek
like a sentence lifted into the air.