Scalene

Clarity arrives in chokes. Stale bread manipulating intestines. Closer still. To drug. In the little words time uses to measure how far it is. Shitless again. The doorstep on her windowsill. Closing. The years in her throat counting backward until. It's that close again.

The past is easy to capture. Just wait. Don't listen at all. The future just as much so. Follow. Forget when they tell you to do so.

Limbs like scarecrows. Lips like plows. Kick the seed. Drop the soil. We barter with the devil. Because in our head he is everything we want. We build our houses in his kingdom. Because we know heaven is just a corner there. Truth is free. To go wherever it wants. But time is embedded in this flesh. This chaos we call intimacy.

Watching. From our tiny wonderlands. We're giants. We're dwarfed. Those doorways collapse. Looking in the mirror. Asking it where we are.

We're nowhere.

Coaxing the catalyst. This tumor called sentience digs ambivalent into sour bones. Skin ripples with colors like layers of paint. Applied to falling skeletons. I am patient. I wait for the specters. To save me from myself.

They do come. Eventually. But they are too late.

Trying the puzzle on in whittles of when. I submit my theorem. The triangle is isosceles. The angles are sharp. But the degrees always add up.

Wait. Feign that you know. Why it is so hard.