Cut Ribbons

Clenching the last threads she asks the needle to be patient. There are so many seams. When I look at the ground they're obvious. When I look at the sky I can see them if I stare. An array of empty wells. Their buckets clanking against the wind. As we are forced to dig deeper. For our most basic needs.

Discussing with the monkey the plausibility evolution might possess. She posed to him this question. Why would you become us. Of all the things there are to be, surely we are not the ideal.

Riding her flat tires. For miles at a turn. Lost in tedious discussions. About plastic limbs and the practicality of skin. As if I'd spent all the do overs contained in this rickety time machine.

And I had to choose. how brief the dream. How short the day which let us love each other.

It would surely last longer than we did.