Broken arms and skinny legs,
sad daughters frightened, stay pegged
by the rising tide.
Laced with leaping apparatus of darkened hide,
flashlights shine down
to those starlets who jumped and died.
A broken wife depressed
from some broken loss of faith,
in some sunny garden, half open gate
left ajar for fear of disgrace
what a peculiar way to end this silly day-
For someone more, we pray for less
Some kind of savior who jumps and spins, I guess
the thought is just as unkind as all the rest;
the sawdust does not matter.