Grappling by Len Kuntz

Me, I am always grappling
In dreams, falling down
A black hole whose muddy walls
Are too far apart
To reach or claw
To stop the constant dropping
I grapple with the wind
With the swollen moon so close
I can see her gray fetus roiling sea sick
In a bunk bed I grapple with
Each night wondering why
In the morning the sun
Even bothers to show up
When it’s the same old play everyday
The one about the woman who
Convinces her children they’d be
Better off dead but decides to
Use them as kindling because
That’s the only time
Their crackle sounds sweet
The only time
They burn bright

Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State, an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans, and the author of I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE AND NEITHER ARE YOU out now from Unknown Press. You can also find him at

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