The Heat

The Heat

by dan ankers

Some can’t stand it

but that I love

The crushing spirit

of competition

Which threatens via

elements

Of vulnerability, and pressure,

and the obliteration of ego

Forms

Little harms, which

hurt more

In so many ways

than cuts and bruises,

Scrapes and breaks

and

Wrenching with the awful torque

of an endless procession

Of spiteful wraiths

that seek to dissever

Human life wholly

till it does not make any sense

They

advance, much like an army

of pinpoint doubts

Set to the music

of misery

And

pain