There are no preambles to my leaps.
Rather, I indulge in the deep dive down,
The jerk behind my navel even when
Vertigo’s haze engulfs me. No.
I / do / not / care.
Shamelessly do I scream I sing I yelp that
I am coming for yóu, concrete.
Not that I yearn or pine for a
Broken spine or expect that this
Steep decline will always end well.
I am relative to the gray square.
I fall to the baseline
And hope to collide.
By Saskia Soelaksana