Shorter Ladders

One color more. Sheets coming undone. In fits of skin. As if we were alive once. Or something similar. More than just time in its infinite travels. Or the remnants its fire leaves behind.

Just colors. Dots anticipating the sun. In sharp bends of light that break too often.

What was easy is hard again. Preachers on the pulpit blame Satan. But I know, amongst us the devil is innocent.

I see the answers. I just never write them down. I psh the switch on the lamp still expecting darkness.

I'm not alone, but it's too close. Gathering her robots. She warns them tomorrow is arrogant. And we are merely the consequence.

Of lazy gods and spoiled children.