Swift

Most of the mistakes you make
You make at speed, in a lunge,
A grab, or a sudden swerve,

Impulses too quick for mind,
World too quick for impulses,
And things tumble over,

And something’s fallen apart,
And now your little world’s broke
Again, and you’ve got to work,

Slowly and painstakingly,
To crawl back to somewhere near
To where you blithely flung from.