Deflated Balloons

wear the thunder with a shifting serendipity. just barely loud enough to hear. voices turn colors. the scrape of the wind. nudges the shadows. as the stubborn glass fights the sun.

the idle numbers. this sweating betrayal. as the world slips away. meekly interrupted. rumbles of skin. like heavy clouds. too shy to rain on us.

every monster with a new name. every corner with an angle obstuse. the motor fumbles with the mechanics of idle. motion all it knows. time is a series of nooses. we are not linear, though our skin would argue differently.

time boasts its angles. and swelling circles. the shapes cast their shadows. but nothing is tangible.

pale fevers name the faces. in a long series of shattered tiles. heavy ladders fall towards the windows. marvel at the glass.

the cool distance. the crumbling numbers. the struggle against life's impossibe math.

the future. the dismal geometry of touch. quietlly calculating the volume of an empty man.