Lambency, or Parker Park, 6:45am

There’s a reason

we like it dark

while having sex.

A lamp’s no friend

of flaws. Fuck off with

fluorescence.

There’s a reason

we call them blinds. Why

you’ll don your Ray-Bans

reading braille. A girl once

felt your acne, you said it

spoke of words.

Appalachians in the snow

awaiting melt.

A trowel to a ‘60s

popcorn ceiling.

Touch comes up with

ways to hear & see.

Resourceful in the clutch.

Our senses tell of

need and never want.

Water is innate

but not desire.

If you think that

it’s a riddle think

again. Or maybe do it

right right from the

get-go. A go-go getter

leaping out of bed—

a geyser from the ground

as soon as the lark

has voiced the dark

has up & fled.

There’s a reason for a

rhyme. And when it

bites its tongue for

the greater good.

Less is more gleans

only what’s essential.

Hunger in lieu of coitus.

The latter in lieu of thirst.

Or the why for which

your face had gone beet-

red—like borscht that

spent three hours in the sun,

when the dinner gong

had summoned,

no one could bother

to show.

Or the man with sight

being led

by a dog who’s blind,

the way both will roll in

the grass before it’s cut—

within the earshot of

an engine, chowing its breakfast

down; the waft of gasoline—

all for the guise of green—

beholding the dawning glint

for what it is:

a fabled tale of Sol,

Luna’s morning gossip,

disclosing what we’re

missing when we blink.

Andreas Gripp

May 21, 2026

Photo by Wichan Yodsawai