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

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