Baptisms in Stone

How at home you are knowing tomorrow isn't coming. Factor twelve. Pi executes itself in a long, wandering eulogy. Warning us that life has as many decimal places to go.

Extinguished dragons. Legless dogs. Pale like a tv with the captions off. I prefer their voices to come from my head. The actors are useless when the story is your own. And all their stories are mine. Written seconds before they speak. If this is addiction I think I prefer it. Finding myself in the phlegm of rogue sneezes that bespeckle my shirt.

A calm madonna ready to be worshipped, but finding her disciples less than eager. I've plenty of blood to spill. You need only cut me.

Red. Sure. Determined.

To see again.

All that was never there.