losing our grip on purpose

By Kevin Grauke

Fine,           (but

sometimes it sinks, descending 

from above, amoebic,

like a parachute 

hovering above a body

dropped instead of carried.

Though shapeless, its form

fills all available space,

leaving no corner 

or crevice unspoiled

by its smirches.

Sometimes it climbs, rising 

from below, miasmic, 

like an evening’s fog

in search of reckless flames

to dampen, douse.

Though wordless, its tidings 

are never good, each time

reeking of rot as they

smother new growth

in night’s shade. 

Sometimes it emerges

from within, organic,

like a virus

ravenous to replicate,

neither quick nor dead.

Though mouthless, its lips

whisper a language known

too well, reciting 

a dissonant elegy

sung for years.

But most of the time

it’s nothing like any of this.

Most of the time, in fact, it’s nothing 

but an absence that absorbs

everything and leaves nothing.

Most of the time, its appetite 

is inexhaustible. Most of the time,

it pauses only long enough 

to say, I’m nothing, and have always

been everything).

How about you?

How are you doing?

 

Kevin Grauke has published work in such places as The Threepenny Review, The Southern Review, Quarterly West, Ninth Letter, and Cimarron Review. He’s the author of the short story collection Shadows of Men (Queen’s Ferry Press), winner of the Steven Turner Award from the Texas Institute of Letters. Bullies & Cowards is forthcoming from Cornerstone Press in 2026. He lives in Philadelphia.