Penny

life here is the thing of target
anyone jumping to their death
off any appropriately high thing

must surely have a target imagine
the incongruous bull's eye our heart
splattered a bucket
of yellow dye
dropped from waist high
we know the thing must fall but we
hope to give rise like a poet panting
so we give our ambition aim
onto the new-sick stroller of a child
or we burst like a bird from wet clouds
full of grace hungry still for fish
fresh flesh
or flip a penny
the arc's mimic caught
momentarily like a feather in the wind
plummets bounces rolls
finally resting on its head
where it's safe at last
to close your eyes.