Today's poem is by Raymond McDaniel
For a model of a gravity well, picture an actual well.
That the moon is minor, that the moon is lesser:
do not pity the motherfucking moon because it orbits you.
From the bottom of a well, whatever sun you can see:
it looks like the moon. Most of the plane of the sky?
Tiled with darkness. What interrupts the moon?
The face of whoever threw you down this well.
You cannot have a fair fight from the bottom of a well.
The creature at the well's lip can tip pebbles upon you.
Gravity does the rest. You can collect the pebbles, yes.
You can throw them out of the well lest you drown in pebbles.
But try to throw a rock from the bottom of a well.
Gravity does the rest. The moon is sick to death:
the object of the moon is tired of being objectified.
Look, you are bigger than the moon. It's measurable.
But you are not so big you cannot fit down a well.
The moon goes away and the moon comes back.
That great floating weight in the sky? It is the sky.
It costs the sky nothing to fall down upon you.
Copyright © 2017 Raymond McDaniel All rights reserved
from Black Warrior Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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