Closures

Sidewalks in the swimming pool. Deceive the short of breath. She took a sip of her denial and went on walking through the water.

Lawn chairs. Spines for crippled robin hoods. Clumsily stealing the shit from rich toilets. Sober. A traffic jam in her throat. A thousand voices. None of which she can discern.

Daylight. The cough. In dull splinters through her lungs. Nights. Spent extracting them.

It's Mars he said. You can still see the sun from here. It's flat tires and chewing gum. On the side of the road. As if your ass is a pinwheel and your cunt is made of roses. And you still don't get picked.

You throw the stone, but can't find the square. Or any angle that makes sense. The clothes are always trying you on. The needles are constantly sewing on your eyes. but still you search for the zippers that aren't there.