Today's poem is by Chris Tonelli

Every Will Builds Itself a Satellite
with a line from Tsvetaeva

It's hard for Gravitron to remember exactly when it all stopped being so
instinctive, when he was his own planet and gravity was for him only a new form of

action. He could see his capacity in the riders' eyes; they were waiting
in line to be erased. Lately though, Gravitron feels like something other than a ride

pretending to be a ride, jealous that the others seem completely unaware
of their own motion. But what else could his elements be? Gravitron is sleepy, wonders

who might be responsible. Listening to his wires settle, it becomes obvious
how intricately all his parts must work to make one simple revolution, how easy it is to

break down. I have to find a new way, he decides. But there's no such thing
as new. Continuing to turn right, Gravitron decides that to decide is to lie, that nothing is

involuntary anymore. Such a strong will and nothing to do.

Copyright © 2008 Chris Tonelli All rights reserved
from Salt Hill Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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