Precarious

precarious

Damn the sleight of hand
that makes me feel
for even one moment:
secure.

There is no such thing.
Every familiar ends.
Every oak falls.
Every god fades.

The only sure thing
is no-thing…
but how do you
fall in love with that?


Words ©2015, Jen Paybe
Image: The Fall of an Angel, Max Ernst


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