Gravity

Cricket player, he is

Naivety, wielding

the bat; ready with

the stance, in order to

the shots

when the gravity

which grip the ball

in wide array.

I stand in the field

which I lose my batting order

of poems.

The pen is not waving

After finish my anxiety

the coffee, as well.

To keep my pace,

In the wake of

the hail fall,

I start the writing.

It is the migrating of

dull, futile repetitive.

My words are going down

onto the ground,

and tear apart, when,

I know, you are watching

With no defense.