Gravitas by William Crawford

Challenger is all gamble no spark
when he bets on night
with slender means. 

He has convinced himself
that the question holds

more weight
than the answer, 

as he fashions a knife
from poached ivory

all blade
no handle. 

He sees blood
on his hands
and feels proud. 
 
Day arrives
as expected; 
 
every error
brighter now. 

His blood
a half-baked cake
wishing to be candle; 

all of this 
friction without flame. 

From ACTUAL TIGERS 
William Crawford © 2011- 2013



~


MORE POETRY