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Let’s Take Off the Helmets and Just Stay Awhile
I can only sink so low
When we’re holding hands
And you won’t let go of me
And you’re floating
Like cellophane kisses we hold on
With these hands of ours
To diminish infection
Or affection
Intersecting with wallowing fingers
A math problem, we are—
Congruencies.
Discrepancies depending on the rotation of the sun
Diminished as we align so perpendicular in shape
Converging like a well-mannered compass
Or a proud protractor
So arrogant, we are
Of each others circles we have squeezed to squares
Infatuation in the world of sno-globes
Manipulation reverberating through our glass walls
As you promise me the snow will stop
Falling, one day, and then, wry smile, you say
“Unless you want to shake things up a bit.”
Like a lunar landing
We shake things up a bit
And make contact for the very first time
Contact, and I wonder if we can get
Walter Concrite in here to narrate
Rehabilitate
Each other as we slip off oxygen-laden helmets
And just hold on with lips
Swelling in the dew drop swirl
The seaweed spit
As we float into our anti-gravity future
Where even when we shake things up
The world has no choice
But to hold us
B.J. Hollars
Email: B.J. Hollars
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