the moment continues to gestate in its rabid fever of time and distance. we chase fortune's truncated remains. broken toys whittling the skeleton. tearing the flesh. scratching our colors into the empt spaces.
the monsters have their textbooks. the villains have their geometry. we struggle with the language. we fumble with the math. allowing the circumstance to flourish. letting it inside us in shallow cuts and missing evidence.
overcome by the distance. spent by cost. acceleration trumps velocity.