The Sad Poetry of When

broad strokes. the stilted ladder. stumbles toward the moon. Feet in the air. Walking on its hands. lost in the spill of touch.

elements. the scowl of when. pale monkeys playing the lottery of surrender. she doesn't ask. has no intention of knowing. but the moment answers with a silence all too telling.

the hour is soft against the sharp of her thoughts. thin cuts spoil the darkness. with the empty scales of sweat and apathy. her piglets all but one eaten. her houses all but one destroyed. the bricks that still stand, more cage than comfort.

she draws. bits of ink. tease the numbers. a tumultuous romance between probability and panic. it's always stairs. it's always down.