A Carnival of Touch

it was far. the distance became her as she went further. it was still cold, though it shouldn't have been anymore. she fussed with the colors. the delicate science of sober. like an open drawbridge. no boats in the water. just the gap. louder than ever.

she watched the train. slow as it was. she drew the maps. in spoils of skin. and stubborn pinnochios.

her thoughts like rain. fall quietly. ignoring the bottom. it changes. so often. her loyalty like traffic. going in every direction. and nowhere.

folding the butterfly. a  paper apocalypse. opening all the zippers on her skin. chasing the stubborn detours. not lost. only exploring unfamiliar places.

the locked doors listening. orphans and strangers. boasting their sticky wings.

the atoms. their sharp epiphanies in slow cuts. vicious demigods in knotted sashes and sour utopias.

the seldom monsters and the frequent ones. a circus of oblivion. softly swallowing the end.

the edge of the world. strangely lacking gravity. the falling. a panic of broken needles and empty stitches.

loudly listening to the holes.