Thursday 9/13/2012 12:42:00 AM

Conditions of when. seldom thieves are left picking empty pockets. If it's never over, then it never began. Fingernails in the dirt. Digging. Tiny graves for tiny men. The years took me by surprise. As I imagine, they do everyone.

The numbers breathe. Sickly and loud. The scald of life burns hot. Small places I rarely visit. Measure the depth of my footprint. Wrinkles in time shuffle our faces and spit us out.

Old enough to wonder. Young enough to ask. How far it is.

Thieves. collectors. Scientists. Stone and glass. Turned pages. Shout like thunder. Scream like the bones too close to the skin.

We're drawing walls. We're scratching boxes. Like the end will be enough.

Broken glass. Spitting atoms. an experiment in paper cuts. An abundance of wounds. No blood.

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