Dustpans and Algebra

Simple puzzles. Dolls without their feet. The hours in grim orbit. Circling the experiment. That foreboding box. With nothing and every inside of it.

Deaf ears listen better.

So few walls to write upon. No space for numbers anymore. And these heavy wings. That wager their feathers against gravity. If I could measure the falling. The choices would be mine again.

Taste the shock of wet tongue on the manifold. Cylinders raging. Fevered with combustibles. An apple under its tree. Potent with obvious anomalies. The wringing fists of moments dovetailed. Small drawers. So much inside them.

Her target. As taut as the machine is careless. The arithmetic named and solved. with several errors. simple puzzles. of skin and bone. Rip the map into smithereens. But I know where I am going. I see the destinations in the empty box. It's easy enough to wait for the world to catch up.

But I see better in the dark.