Ambivalent Exceptions

The corner. Bribing the dawn. With dull fangs. On the meat's tender parts. The flock. Rushing the gate. In deep boots. Thick with mud. Cozened paintings on empty plates. Calculating her slumping shoulders.

There was no sleep. Only variegated templates in the disease. Stout fingers on the button. As the timer slowly ticks down. There are no monsters. Nor any gods. To explain. The destruction.

Just little men with their hats on backwards. And the stairs they've climbed to find this cliff.

We draw. Pictures on each other. In wizened fits. Frivolous maps. To treasures already taken. Counting each coin twice.

She wears the ambush. It bright colors. The war at her fingertips. Her enemies her only friends.