Sad Discussions with Gods in Hand

Gravity weak. The girth of conductivity heavy on her cheeks. The art of her frown painting me. In different shades of the same pigment. Slaughtered pigs. The bacon ripe in their bellies. Black holes interrupting. The manic collision of divergent atoms. On their way to when. It mattered.

The monkey's hand on the last page of the book. The penny in the puddle. Teasing the rain with fading fingerprints. The wish. The awful guilt. Of wanting things to have been different.

The clowns. Coming out of their cramped houses. Their red noses barely hanging onto their faces. Execution. Is where we are weak. The circus. The acrobats. Falling gracefully. Connection fails the students. The animals in cages. The rusted zipper on that devil. Whispering in colors I can't see.

I understand now. This effusive enemy. Gravity. Not as strong as I am. But so much more determined.