Crippled

A Poem

Hailed by a crutch like a standard, put in the living room as one more dark and damp light fixture. Holding the court of the vanquished. The victories are all small, and none of them wish to stay for coffee. None of them would dare spend the entire night because of what might happen to the retreat.

Hefted into a tiny tin frame, aluminum the shade of dusted chrome, flexing insecure muscles. The atrophies you were worried about, they happened. Distended longing the light only ever reaches between arrogant curtains.

Walks into couch. Falls into walls. The damage not nearly as intense as it seems at first. Relentless flame, agony the work of invisible lighters set at a thousand and two different points. Everything is a contact, a burning wish to sink, to become furniture rather than a fixture.

Entered into whatever column is left, the day is one eye opening after another but never the same eyes, never at the same time. Delivering one more lecture to bones that haven’t fucking listened up till now, the speech crowds out the candle smoke, the darkness crippling the words.

J.D. Harms 2020