Monday 7/31/2017 11:46:00 PM

the edge is a trespass. the pattern is corrupt. we could name the gods. in every color. children in their fits of chalk. whispering the math. in broken skins. negotiating blood in zippers and shotguns.

the little hills. and the steeper ones. as heavy as surrender.

the obvious lies coat her tongue. in the foul of choices. the simple thieves polish the locks.

the folds meet in a conundrum of possibilities. their skin all vertices. their voices all intersections. the empty spaces tessellating. like the hunger of touch collapsing.

the premise assaults. the wars is burnt roofs and shallow puddles. the poison is humble. the antidote is arrogant.

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