Partitions

Waiting for the world to end. It never does. Puppets dancing on their tangled strings. Laughing gods trading in fists. Seldom Satan's baiting the hooks. As this river expands. To consume. Sinking strategists. Blank skin invitation enough. For a new confrontation.

Her fallen fruit still lay on the ground. Red apples and ripe obsessions. Spoil harshly in the discourse of the sun. But seeds remain. Still to covet. For fingertips and thighs. And all those pieces in between. That try to convince. The whole is contained within the pieces.

Torn capes. Heavy heroes. Trudge through the dying volcanoes. We would otherwise call choices. Smoke. Fire. Decision. In thick clouds smothering the sun.

Waiting for the world to end she wonders if it ever began. Monkeys with their big sticks. Promising of people. As the hours decide. As the pages pretend. To know. What is written.

If I can only die once, This should be it.