A Pound of Flesh

Isosceles wasn't listening. As we bored through the corners. Poor men. And rich ones. Eager to extrapolate their gain. From so much misfortune.

She was too busy with her lessons to know. That the recital had been cancelled. They could stall the rape, but not prevent it.

The tiger. It's claws useless. In the center of all these graves. What I can kill is already dead. So what do I matter. What shall I love now that no one cares for what I hunt.

The muted train tracks. Count the skins we have shed. Discarding saviors more talk than presence. Life happens. Nothing else does. We wrestle. With those zippers. That insist. We've always been naked.

We cower in our phone booths. So many capes to try on. Gravity belittling almost heroes.

We stare. Certain the eclipse will end. Will children found. And humanity not a miscarriage.

Light years measure the distance. Darkness measures all the rest.