Obvious Corners

she was counting her colors. letting the voices go too far. small pebbles and big branches in the perpetuity of reasonable chaos.

we were drowning. in marathons and afterwards. we were ugly. in swollen math and false geometry. there were steps. measured as they always are. in parodies of skin. and the sovereignty of touch.

a fading conflict. the wager more structural than risk.

the flow of light. bent, yet determined. the consequence of sight entirely ungrateful. such is the scrape of the scale. full of weights and measures. and the awful dilemma of truth.

she was wearing the world. as she always had. in loose dresses and soiled blouses. she had always assumed that someday it would fit. no reason really.

the lights stayed on for as long as they could. the moment came and went. in wooden baseball bats and dried up markers.  not enough time she lamented as the moon came into focus. too many simple questions. with only complicated answers.

we are equal portions. time's passive aggression.  and hope's quiet rage.