Running My Mouth, Running Aground


Ground rushing to meet me.
Paralyzed, completely.
Landing, with limbs in a pile.
I lie here astounded.
Aggrieved, but firm grounded.
Resultant, of tempers gone wild.
I challenged the alpha.
Resenting his pallor.
An offence, not worth the price.
He finished me neatly.
Upended repletely,
With injuries requiring ice.
Youth is a bastard.
Increasing the hazard,
Of making choices so poor.
Next time I’ll give sway,
To an alternate way.
And my mouth, a locked door.