The Concave Occurency
Poem By MARINA GIPPS
How long can I stare into your head?
Skydiving in minutaie, a spider within a lost path,
no longer able to support a pattern.
Our maker says your warranty has expired,
production is down, and She'll never make
So many years you were my chew toy,
sweet as sassafras,
bitter as heavy rain.
Our weather, confused as the misinterpretation
of history or herstory
you never knew-
she cannot be sown again:
quiet in the changing
of his runaway guard.
In my locket, a strand of his hair,
flown via stork to a laboratory
for further inspection
To be created again,
in the midst of quakes,
floods and eruptions
of 'I love you' if only to see you
again lose a piece as if lost pieces
might fuse momentarily
in a second guess...
Only it is not you,
just an unsuspecting bystander
in all his fruition, indentured,
for his misfortune of his likeness.