Wednesday 4/22/2015 12:17:00 AM

solvent hours in the millenia of her want. no flames. just ashes. the mystery of loss. the consent of gravity. the compromise of how.

just pictures. moments in their puddles. drying up. raw edges folded under. soft creases coming undone.

the distance in ribbons. all ripe scabs and sour blood. the bishop in the shadow of the king. poised to the rook. the truth is a strategy in a game of fiction.

the journey becomes us. a thunder of narrow bridges and a whisper of stop signs. in the confluence of capacity. numb fingers chewing on the wind. toothless predators gathering their poisons. the obvious autonomy of skin. still burning. like a blackened candle's wick.

the disease is a triumph. as bruised as it is arrogant.

all left turns and broken zippers.in the lingering cold.

the summer always comes slowly. yet it leaves so abruptly. 

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