The birth of gravity-

Kelly never wanted to kill anything.
Now, she gathers her skirt nervously in her hands
as she sits on the floor.
She has already picked at the carpet,
wishing for grass.
She keeps thinking of fireflies in jars.
How their lights go out.
She knows.
She has to leave.
Something in him, therefore,
will, must dim.

Morgan was just penetrated for the
first time.
He kept thinking.
Penis. Penetration. Penultimate. Pendulum.
Pulse.
In sweat and breathing he lay, and
the ground under
the bed under
the building under
his breath,
“pulling.”
Morgan closes his mouth.

It’s August.
During a televised speech,
Mei stands,
vomits.
Across a glass table,
she supports herself, shaking.
Shellfish.
Mei feels delicate, porcelain thin, like
the shells of shrimp,
and sees her eyes in the reflection
on the screen.
His mouth is still moving.
She knows better than to move.

Little stories of recognition. Little.
They are factoring the coefficient of down.
Maybe, they will remember the antecedent,
up.





GLS
9.7.92