Racquetball

There is nothing to explain

No required

Vomiting exposure of innards

I feel the compulsion anyway

Feelings feelings feelings

Water dripping over the rocks' edge

No need to capture

No need to drown in drinking

No need to measure the entirety and publish results

Feeds the moss or exists not at all

Leaves dry and crumble

Dust sand bits dead bugs

I see now what I was doing

Found an open crack in the skin of my finger

Dry jagged begging for my lips

Moisten and soften soften

Smooth smooth smooth the edges

Screaming quietly

Aching in my throat tingling to the lowest depths

Sitting there unattended finally longingly forgotten

Success winning

Forgive me leaving you possibly exposed on the curb outside

Without explanation

Climbing safely under the walls of an old racquetball

Within the tightly wound bands of my own vessels

Bouncing fast and hard against the walls and the racquets

Trusting the orbit of my true self