Smaller Needles

Porcupine she said. Born of needles. Her open thighs lilac like the night is when no one is looking. Minor plagues these bits of time we call moments. An epidemic when you add them all up.

Octopus. I have too many arms to feel anything. It's all just grabbing. Holding onto nothings with absent hands. Eulogies in pencil. The dead erasing all the adjectives. I couldn't know her even if I could count that high. Which I can't. She's scalene. The vertical struggles against itself until gravity finally wins.

Small aliens unnoticed in the pockets of fat the fill the darkness. Voices. Eyes. Limbs. Skin like a siren. Eyes like an ambulance. We're always saving the dying.

The living don't stand a chance.