Porcupines

I was debating with the ink. Slivers of skin all marinated in touch. His cardboard eyes helpless in the storm. Goodbye. A rented tuxedo that didn't want to fit.

No questions. Just the test. To fail and fail again. No words. Only pages of faces growing blurry. Bland Polaroids trace the shapes. The color's gone.

He drew a cat on a piece of paper. Imaginary claws presumed the taste of blood. He prayed. Like any good catholic boy would. To a god more excuse than salvation.

Watching the moon trying to prove it's there. As it chases us down the highway. In doses of men she still calls medicine.

in moments of surrender when the disease is most appealing. She wonders out loud. How to tell the difference.

Or if she ever could.