Forms of Glue

A prompter and a promptress.
A torn apart dress
hanging on a limb in the wilderness.
It is said we know more about Mars
than about the sea.
It is said there is a depth that is unknown,
it is impossible to fully understand
a person, so don’t try, unless
you are some kind of ____________.
I reach into a pocket for the gum.
If this were a poem I would reach into the pocket
for an emptiness.
This is not a poem but a story of suspense.
An acrobat is like glass before it shatters.
A wife is like gel, gluing the frame together.
A dream lies inside another dream,
like Haruki Murakami.
A whale may sound to the depths
and get tangled in electric cable.
Orange is a nice color, it pops
the way her earrings did.
A woman carrying her baby
in a Bjorn sack backwards
shines, or seems to
right before white vomit
splatters into her cleavage.
Instances can enlighten, devastate,
and make love in my little rowboat.
A son watches a jackrabbit
which is the earth’s taut nerve
which is what alone you can understand.

James Grinwis‘ two books of poetry are The City from Nome (National Poetry Review Press) and Exhibit of Forking Paths (Coffee House). He co-edits Bateau Press and lives in Northampton, MA.