sometimes
words come out wrong and
hang
there
sparking
in the air
ripping shreds of whatever
might have gone right
and though youd like to take
it back
the words are out
to stay

what a gift
to be able to type
long trails of black and white
and take it
all
back
switch and rearrange the letters
create paragraphs you dont want
nothing will last
make a beautiful picture
and then make it
more elaborate
adding swirls of blue and green
changing the shape
guessing
second guessing
mistakes vanishing into blank white space
open for a second chance

He dangled there,
Hovering between going on and going back.
Wrapping his hand around the bar,
Biting his lip and not looking down.
It’s October, but the sun is content.
He swings, swaying, kicking,
He’s floating.
Makes it to the end.
He knows he’s safe.