Yesterday's Oligarchy

the number confides. yawning scars. the future in increments. chasing promises long since expired. meat clings to the bone. but hunger easily manipulates any given circumstance.

soft scabs fester. a riot of flesh. small revolutions distort us. animals gnawing on leashes attached to no one. lazy roads ambling into storms that never burst open. the angle of if sharper than ever. the pull of gravity like a lover scorned.

the distance is measured, not in effort, but in depth. we don't go anywhere. we are always taken.

in inches. in miles. in pieces. the mosaic of touch always building upon its cumulative treason.

one road. a hundred. there's always a bridge. there's always a gap to cross.

she's gone. the glass is dark. we wait for the siren. though we're unsure of the crime.

a fatal submission. to the religion of how. to the sin of why.