And Giants They Were No Longer

Little girls in big dresses. Pimples coming and going from within soft, velvet mountains of time. Wearing their futures. Already lost in the enormity of what's yet to happen.

Little dogs guarding great riches. As angry with the treasure as they are with those who would try to take it from them. The first musky sip of acceptance. Bristling on my tongue. Velcro laced with barbed wire.

It doesn't matter anymore. And it never will again.

Drunken stop sign winks at me, but I ignore it. With all the pungent grace of dominoes on acid.

I taste the entryway. Thick columns too erect. Tepid bricks with burlap wings. Chasing the arrogant stutter of badly bruised men.

Everything was always bigger than me.

And I just keep getting smaller.