the fall begins
at conception
a slow decline
unnoticeable
slippage seven
ages in one
arbitrary miscarriage
accidental
cancerous
murder by fire water
dis-eased
melancholy
can’t remember faces no more
the brutality
of old age
can’t piss in a pot no more
or a swift
acceleration
choosing an open window
irresistible
gravity calling
200 mph
a dislocation of ghost limbs
hot wind
shape shifting hair aflame
till you hit
ground zero running
the red light
The Purple Hermit 
I like the way the piece seems to accelerate on the way through, maybe it’s partly the staccato effect of the optional words. And a real fireball of an ending. How we’d like to go out, either way. I don’t think I will: I expect to slip into grey dullness, but who knows? Well done, Nikita.
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Hello Steve, thanks for reading my poem. Not the most uplifting subject! This experimental piece was influenced partly by the iconic photo of the falling man from 9/11 and the collapse of the twin towers – a photo I’ve always found inappropriate and invasive so I tried to turn it into a metaphor. Glad you got something out of it.
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