Pursuing the Exception

Gravity on its stilts. Tall tendrils charm the fall. Small epiphanies in the assumption of cause. The dull, dull sparks. As we churn in our frail obsessions. Clutching the otherwise with numbing fingers.

The failing ease. With which the giant frees himself from his legs. Small again. Then smaller still. Until everything is far away. Dying clocks with their arms full of faces. I don't recognize.

The stubborn cold trickling through the window panes. Tiny monsters making her bed shiver. With absent fathers and recurring dreams. The arrogant zippers on their backs coming open. The things inside. So sure.

Duct tape and needles for the flower. Condemned to the sun. The rain. In random chokes. Fall like burning bridges. Splitting atoms. Content in their rampage.

She explodes. Gratified by the pieces. the machine is born with us. Back and forth. The molecules trip over each other. The switch is off. She names each ghost. The same. She calls them.

But none answer.

The switch is on.

I see myself. Through weak binoculars. I see myself. And I know. We will always be strangers.