Rigid Curves

Solitude spent her well. A thick wad of singles distributed amongst the saints and the whores. I wondered the difference as I examined them. Both sex for profit. Be it before or after the fact.

She wasted her time on crowns and dead kernels of corn. Dwelling in the hot oil to prove her point. Shrugging on the demons like loose fitting nightgowns. Suffering with the spoiled fruit. All these hours have specified.

Warring with the poisons. As though poisons are not everywhere. Negotiating with the Cancers for a limb to keep.

Pulling the covers over her head she assumes the dream is close enough to catch. Stale petals. Withering gardens. Scratched out maps determined to get me there.

All the sharks magnificently quiet as I sort through these mounds of flesh.

Strangers confusing the vaccine withe the cure.