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
