Ataxia

The floor underneath me is off-kilter,
Undistributed, always teetering
Like a fulcrum balanced by a filter
With its siphon feed backwards, reversing.
The shaking, sturdy ground on which I stand
Wobbles as my uncoordinated
Legs sift firm into the swift, slinking sand,
Holding my balance subordinated.
The ataxia gripping my control
Drops me in the loose palm of the limp world.
I, a spineless ragdoll, fall down and roll,
Drooping around where my body is hurled.
Meanwhile, the landscape collapses upward
And I flip back from physics so cluttered.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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