by Robert McDonald
Ever since I was little I’ve been plagued by gravity and thoughts of being a planet. Please God let me wake up tomorrow as a huge gaseous object, far away from you. Let me wake up tomorrow in another solar system. The combination of being nakedly silver and my desire to travel a wobbling orbit has fueled this type of prayer and makes me consider my youthful waxings and wanings. I shall put on the jacket my dead sister gave me, the scratchy one that nonetheless glitters like stars.
This prose poem is one of a series derived and in part collaged from artistic statements from painters in New American Paintings No. 69.
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