Withering Einsteins

Red. Do you know why the moon is blind. Or the ocean deaf. Simple puzzles interrupt the music. As she deciphers the silence. In repellent fractions of how little. It matters.

Blue. Poorly rendered schematics turn on the numbers. She counts slowly toward the last. The end that isn't there. Gods with broken fists pounding on clouds. To make it rain again.

Yellow. The breach between her thighs panting electric pus. A tired rage lost in a mute combustion. The stick working its way through the gaps. That long journey to deliver grandma her basket.

White. This calm ladder of skin. Proposing a departure from physics. Her reaction is neither equal nor opposite. The inertia of why stalls on if.

Try on each catapult. The glass wants its stone. Slither inside each corpse. Vague and obsolete. As all graves are. Now that the dead can see.