The Weak Corner Of A Fading Picture - Poem by Aaron Graham
The Weak Corner of a Picture's Splintered Frame
Part IV: The Weak Corner of a Fading Picture
Though cigarette burns against my lungs,
I don't mind it. Its caustic plume- memories
Servant- professes to me a supplicant's promise.
That, with due patience,
I'm but among the dead as well.
Just as well, I neither suited nor worthy
To play god to utopist civilizations
Still as a jar, unworthy to play fourth piece
In the quartets.
They were here before I, and will be here after.
The fourth, the weak corner will break.
Failing and disappearing- its rightful place-
Hopefully time's whims will assign some
Permanent brace, for I have but seconds.
Seconds to shoulder my piece of the burden
I wish there were a civilization to live
Where my mind has placed shadows.
Here in my mental fertile crescent, cemented
Only by words.
And only their inevitable suffering would awaken.
Me- to the myriad imperfections I never noticed
In the world
For this imperfection, never fulfilled,
Only reflects my imperfection;
Which plays like lake-ripples
Across this eternal landscape.
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