We're always drawn to the precipice.
We feel the invisible tug
trying to pull us over.
We grab for our heartstrings,
getting only air:
Over we go,
like a ball
bouncing
down
*
*
*
Steps;
a toy
cast away,
but—we're drawn back;
pulled back up again
as if the very air
(with its dizzying effects)
makes us drunk with necessity.
We're always drawn to the precipice.