I fall into the succour of your flagging upper-body strength

The pommel horse
Is prancing


Surmount, liquorice lax


A lazy arm’s extension


Hawser thin and relatively
Unbiased


There is a kind of threat
In the tight grain, in the sweat
That divides your t-shirt


Into terra nullius
And undisputed regions


Erase a line, and jump
Over the dogs of lazy meanings


Biceps smooth, collapsing
In a forward roll

The incline mat
As it slowly, closely pours
The colour
Of an ugly sky


The shoulder dislocates
With that wet leather sound
Of sinews wrenching


Your scowl red as empires


Extend your arm
Fold it into place


An aspiration for the pain

Clean jerk

No more flying