V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics





You won't climb granite with me, mind divorced
from mine, not comprehending why I scrape
soft flesh on stone, where gravity tips force
on razored ledges.  This cliff's rockface shape
I take as mine.  Surgically, I select
the wires and chocks to custom-fit each crack,
tug tight until they catch.  Such slim protec-
tion, clipped to faith, is safest when it's slack.
My weight on vinestem legs turns arabesque
above your head.  The vision frays your nerves.
My boots bite death-slip's lip.  The ground's grotesque.
I fall-catch-swing, a living plumb-bob's curves.
You'd never take this risk, afraid to die.
We have our different viewpoints, you and I.

© by Robin Kemp


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