The Proportional Paradox

 how quietly we withered. soft bones embracing the sun. no words. just voices too old to recognize.

prices paid without exception. empty songs. that linger. the poison of absent choices.

time keeps count. the ubiquitous measure of decay. a rotting art. life in curious tangles. and hungry knots.

light decides. taken from. and given away. always waiting to be seen. 

the humble perseverance of the angle telling its desperate lies. and the ugly flesh that convinces us to believe them.

the atoms have their weight. and gravity has its contextual velocity. like the hum of words as they break our hearts. or the strike of our feet as we chase the pavement.

either way. we're always falling.