Wet Fingers in a Blizzard

wrinkles in the memories. stray dogs in sealed envelopes. the concept of eternity. more snowflakes than glass. perfumed icicles and the perjury of loss. gravity listens often, but seldom speaks. we are all alone when we are falling

damaged skeletons. worn by reality's obtuse waterfall.

fractions compose. the caterpillar dominates the leaf. truth.  the adjective chases the noun.

linear villains struggle against the whims of planar time.

the chaos of five dimension simmers. bubbles over into the sixth.

we are fundamentally creatures of how. destroyed by the base logic that initially gave us life.

all dull pencils and torn pages. scratches that remain where the ink has faded. shouting at the fickle parallels that indicate defeat. 

need is geometric. shapes and the lines that make it easy to calculate. flesh is history. all wars and their incompetent victors. an arrogant kingdom populated with conmen and usurpers.

we're always solving for the hidden layers. as if they are real.

the cold finds her. the same as it does everyone. pieces at a time. in hungry tessellations of gravity that don't understand what falling  is.

the cold consumes. a frigid god. still  struggling to determine the temperature of forgiveness.