The Gravity of Crimping
“Do as you wish,
Our game is that of attrition.”
The water speaks,
The winds howl,
And clouds coalesce outside
Your dimly-lit kitchen. You
Stare on
As the sun burns, boring
Through the ocean
Waves that hang
As ornamental chest-up puffs —
The ones that billowed down through
The night. That morning
The sun cajoled
Your bodily rhythm. You,
Marionette of mass.
You,
Threadbare
Toy: A string thing.
You, corduroy wear:
Fuzz-buzzed-shorn
Sheer clear
By friction and slippage.
Tick-tock tectonics.
The metronomic gravity
weighed constant.
Above words air soars
Articulating a dance.
Gasp.
Grasp.
Bang.
Your constituent parts sprayed away
to where the days fray,
light bends, and boundaries
are just a figmentary construction.
Epilogue:
Our goodbyes were light
Wrapping on the window
Pane. You asked to be
Alone so we left you to
Ponder the dew
Collecting at the edge
of the arch.
Your forearms were tender,
With fingers inflamed,
Your grip gave way
From holding too
Tightly.
AARON GERRY tries not to take himself too seriously, despite what the content may suggest. He enjoys pen and paper, perambulating, and donuts. Many donuts. Oh and writing. Speaking of which, his work can be found in journals and publications such as Chronogram, Lit Up, P.S. I Love You, The Creative Cafe, The Junction, and others. If you like this piece please do 👏clap👏 along!
Enjoyed this poem? Check out some of his other work:
