Arm’s Length

by Marina Dolinar


Outstretched, extended breath by breath,

eyes closed— breathe out

through the terrible mechanism of the body.

Exhale hot, shallow, instinctive processes

over the deep well of the cupid’s bow.

Always at arm’s length, always away

through the meditation of disappointed paralysis, paresis,

abandoned stupor of being.

Jungle fever, doubly eager to run away,

not close enough to be held up or held down or held in arms.

Always at arm’s length, always never too far away.