Broken Clocks

 the edge seemed as far as it was close. the temperamental paradox that plagues all of life as we know it. 

flesh accumulates its debts. we default on most of them. 

the air was silk. the road was burlap. as we calculated the efficacy of the skins we'd chosen. 

our rigid plastic arms shattered as we tried to touch. 

we can't be wrong. we can't be right. when the question has never been asked.

we can only shout and wait for someone to surrender. 

the raw instance between realization and defeat.

erupting.

a magnificent destruction. full of everything inside of us that's broken. that will never be whole again. 

our brittle paper legs disappear beneath us. as the flood deepens. 

the little thieves take what they need. and we continue on in the remainder of our hysteria. 

too stubborn to hear. too angry to listen. the years rot inside us. 

still we continue onward even as everything around us is collapsing.

because that is what life is.