Hanging Pictures

Two movies. One sad. Two hands. One empty.

Wake up! He shouted. I'm bored. But she had so been enjoying being deaf.

The hammock between her legs. Swinging softly with the absence. Of so many things she almost had. All skin is borrowed. She tries them on. All touch is artificial. Tastes sweeter than it is.

The science of alone. A debatable ratio of now and then. We are here. And there. The crush of possibilities soothes the dead. She stares. Anticipates him flipping that switch in her grin. The long laugh of curious molecules colliding with fact. Radiant heat. The catastrophe of together. Atoms colliding.

The map festering in her skin. Bloated blisters erupting with the places she's never been. Occasionally she convinces time to forget. but always. too soon. it remembers.

Playing cards with the devil. Betting everything on nothing. Pretending to know why there are.

Two bodies. But only one motive.

One nail of the wall. Waiting for a portrait.