Missing Crutches

Permanent discrepancies. Poster the edges of the gourd. As she carves it. Making faces where there once were none. Hollowing out the shell. Filling it up with an absent light. That only shows the shadows.

The secondary machine becomes more important than the first. I save them all. In fragments. I always come back. No matter how long I've been gone. The numbers lie to me again. Rabbit's bones in my lucky charms. Plastic army men in my democracy. I remember the pollination. The lies buzzing in my brain as the coffins closed. I see the desert.

The dog barks. Far away. But it's grief is close. The leash cinches around its throat. Children on the last of their dreams. Awaken. To a world with little sympathy. I bite into the apple. Tasted by the Earth. Looking for villains in all the wrong places.

A barren landscape. Beautiful. And all the things that made it ugly. I check my nose. This Pinocchio is uncertain. Of when she is lying. The dwarfs lay me sleeping on a bed of stone. But the poison is better than the prince.

I walk. On new legs. I fall. On unfamiliar crutches.