Acme Gravity in a Box

Those thick gods with their trumpets made of stone. All thunder. No music.

Spare me.

These truths so vague. Digging graves with shovels full of holes.

Every corner is sharper than the one before it.

Batman in the bookstore. Velvet pages on the end of his belt. Words without blood seem pointless now. And blood without words a criminal silence.

Wonder Woman at the bar. Shirley Temple eyes. Gin and tonic stare. The ceiling is gone. And so is the floor. Lost in that cartoon pause between stepping off the cliff and actually falling off.

You never do start to drop until you look down and see that the ground is gone.

So If I never open my eyes. If I never look down. I can stay here.

Never have to hit bottom.