Jumper
Standing on a ledge ten stories up
wind rips at clothing & flesh,
a tiger's claws. Hair blown to hell.
None of it matters at all.
Nothing matters but the hundred feet below
& a tiny patch of concrete
soon to be filled with blood & brains &
the crushed shell of a depressed life.
One last look out, then down.
Thighs compress for launch:
a three second freefall into salvation.
(Copyright 3/1/2006)
poem by Hugh Cobb
Added by Poetry Lover
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