Saturated

The name. Letters espoused from the pores on her ass. Friends a technicality in a trial of sober. Skin pickled and jarred in dark basements. Sold out in the open. Small lies, she says, to make the world inhabitable. Big ones, to make it forget.

The choice frozen on tiny ladders. Afraid. Jello molds of people. No flavor. Just color. Movement. Assuming the empty is bigger than I am.

Tigers in the doubt of their stripes search their claws for blood. What have I killed lately that hasn't killed me first?

The myth is that we will learn what can't be taught. The fact is, even the brick house can be blown down. If the wolf is determined. If the mortar is soft.

Hanging the truth in lazy nooses. Broken guillotines try, but fail to cut their heads off.