Judges with Molten Hammers

Just parts. The parallel pursuant to the result. Of long women with their eyes missing. And my finger. Dry clay. Listless on the wheel. As she spins it.

Just people. Demons in their rented tuxedos. The barometer. Of able skin. Pinches. Through turnstyles. Toward limp trains. As loud as their destination.

Just fractions. Pieces of the math that gradually insist this life will happen. Out of place. Flamingos on the lawn. Stick legs driven into the grass. Can scarcely cork the volcanoes. That say she is there.

Soiled bowls on the table. Tiny gods with their alarm clocks set. For our next epiphany.

Just when. The radius consults the diameter. Breasts. Vagina. Places. that too easily forget. What I have confessed to them.