Identifying the Enemy

The color. The torque. On absent resolves. Fetches the ghost. From its grave. And we are born. To want. Pointed heels. The precision of touch. Propagating ambivalence. The margin. As the wolves would refer to it. Circumspect. In the evolution of skin.

Dead things. Dead things she says are all around her. In the fingers and the limbs. The tooth and the digest. The window that the glass. As the outside seeps surreptitiously in.

I wake up on the edge of the bed. Unsure where I've been. The travels. The time. Ticking. A zealous Geiger counter. Measuring the weight of my skin more than the thickness.

Whispering to the clock. When the hour is ripe. Stealing the fruit from its vine. As the seeds begin to sour. Listening to the alarm I cannot hear. Deafened by resolve.

Alone in this madness. Found by my future. Forgotten by my past. Searching for a god that never was. Bent over. The puzzle. Consumed by the paradox. The solution comes to me and I ignore it.

The picture toils in redundancy. Until I can forget myself.