Center of Gravity

soft corners tease the arithmetic of volume and depth. want and loss. the tender thieves we take for granted. as our movement subsumes us.

when i walk there are footprints. though the ground is hard. when i am lost there are paths. though the maps are wrong.

the world is quiet. i can barely hear it breathing. a lever. a fulcrum. the body. choice's most basic of machinations.

an engine. a combustion. the physics of skin steadily unravelling under the wrench of context.

the little animals and the big ones. we're the same. the red lights and the green ones. we keep going either way.

the end hums its simple songs. blood seldom listens.