Gravity Falls, the Dusk is Claimed
Return your tray to the window on the right.
Ignore the grasping hands within.
They jigger the lights as you walk to remind you,
never a footfall invests in the shadow lines
without a hesitation.
Roll the dicecube and hope for seven.
Dance skinny on the edge of balance.
Encased eyes open just as you glance away.
Sleep is a mirage of inattention.
Brick upon brick upon brick
the ledger of your new canvas.
Somewhere a faucet is running,
overfilling the basin onto the floor.
Vines crawl upward, where no purchase exists.
Slowly, slowly so.
Gravity falls, the dusk is claimed
Matthew Smart lives in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where he works as an information technology analyst. His writing has appeared in Vestal Review, Dead King Magazine, Queen Mob’s Tea House, Unbroken Journal, Smokelong Quarterly and elsewhere. He serves as Assistant Prose Poetry Editor at Pithead Chapel.
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