The Tangible Authority of Missing Skin

The backdoor stayed open even after he had gone. Parables in arithmetic. Dividing by what is left. After all the remainders are forgotten. Ghosts caught between stages. The larva and the butterfly. Telling their stories in vomit and piss.

Struggling with the fractions. The process of sinking comes to her in songs. The pencil breaks. But she's only angry that she doesn't need to draw the pictures anymore.

The heroes come in silly colors. Form fitting tights. The forest opens its jaws. To chew on obvious villains. I try on his face. But the words don't come out.

The universe laughs at my misunderstanding of it. My choice. I choose this flawed time line.

She doesn't tell him, but she's thinking. This is exactly how I imagined it.

Every window broken. Every door still shut.