Prompt Response
Creep Crack Crock
A prose poem
The line never really pulls away from the horizon — it is constant, as constant as flesh rolled into place by thought or frame. It sits, waiting for the cracks to abstract the landscape. Subtract some small cell or kill it off with poison — packaged as care, packaged as a solution to xeroderma.
Kindness feeds the cracks, dried out by the lack of comfort, replenished by a new comfort shaped in the form of food — focused on feeling its way out of the crock and into the pot poised for fun — a glorified container with the lid a little tilted to allow the aroma room to roam.
Who else slips their fingers closer to their nose to detect location? Evidence that something has taken place, that someone exist within the space. My body talks to itself through the smells found in the folds, shedding light on my intimates and giving voice to my past.
Lennie Varvarides, Dec 2021
Inspired by J.D. Harms prompt below:
