Hold still, I know it hurts
much more than I can judge.
You live on the very edge,
your guts exert
gravity you begrudge.
Hold still, I know it hurts
when once again he skirts
the pith with verbiage.
He too lives on a ledge,
his arguments integuments,
scaffolding where he can lodge.
Hold still, I know it hurts.
Precariousness imparts
this poignancy to rage.
We all must face the edge
when nakedness thwarts
and confines us in its cage.
Hold still, I know it hurts.
You live on the very edge.