Gravity (Poetry)

I fancy I can feel
the weight of each dull hair —
its frail lacklustre length
pins me to this chair.

These flaccid drapes of flesh
droop cumbersome and drag
too heavy for old bones
while muscles strain and sag...

I’m anchored hand and foot
by the physical restraints
of a body whose machine
needs more than oil and paint.

The wreck of me stares long
at the twilight-heavy sky
where my feather-floating soul
imagines it can fly.