Friday 5/25/2012 12:28:00 AM

the warden and the thief equally impress her. a larger prison does not boast greater freedom. only more room inside its cages. dead men on their tightrope dare not fall.

patterns. touch. flesh like freight trains. Overcomes us. We stutter forward. Thin outlines drowning in an ocean of colors. Thickets in a bushel of when. Breathlessly listening for the flower to open.

the bridge is made of monsters. Her skin is made of glass. They can see what's missing. The crank of the numbers as the engine shifts into gear. Forces her forward. Through the dark. Candles. snuffed. Time travels through her. In huddles and gunshots. Simple wounds keep quiet.


And wait.

For her to laugh.

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