Poetry Circus: Descent off Swin Set.

The dreams always
started the same way with me
on a swing set.
Swing set bolted,
firmly to the ground, I kicked
higher and higher, up.
Then I would fly
to my favorite cloud, only
to fall off,
               down - down-down.
 Decending in Air
               down the White Rabbit's Lare:
I went, grabbing onto the air,
but my hands slipped.
I plunged into
the depths of ocean waves
drifting me away.