Sanctuary
chasing red and green
arms and legs
flips and flops,
meanwhile,
in the sanctuary, grieves
a wrestler soul,
devoid of win,
or injured by mat,
or a parent’s smackdown.
passing by
the hallway depths
of a rumbling sorrow!
he knows, nor cares,
that anyone is there.
his belly bared,
like an infant
attempting to wrestle,
from side to side,
hoping to escape.
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