Adam J. Gellings is a poet and instructor from Columbus, Ohio. His previous work has appeared in Blue Earth Review, Ovenbird Poetry & Quarter After Eight.

Also by Adam J. Gellings: Appendix Two Poems Frida

Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry: For Security Purposes


Adam J. Gellings

Ars Poetica

Say that it’s like this — somewhere above the paint drying on the fence post above the murder of prose balancing on thin wires of light above where the field path you’ve walked more than a hundred times begins to wear you down. Say it changes every time. Today it is rich with chokecherries & buckthorn. The way those names explode in your mouth like small bundles of firewood. Say that they are not yours. Let them go. Let them drift somewhere above the changing seasons the midnights & the dawns above where it becomes difficult to breath. On some unexpected day, say at the end of summer. When the hours are running on empty & the days seem to become quieter. Reach for them. In the clear air that keeps you. In the shadows that begin to darken the trail at dusk. Let them light a little fire for you. Let them leave you remembering the way it’s looking now.




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