Raiding the Morgue

Broken bricks. She wades through her life the same. The crags. Bleeding toes. And fallen arches. Obvious symptoms of a more elaborate disease. Everything fits. As it should. All those monsters with their laminate name tags. Charming the rain away from the windows. I look out. And see several equations. None of which I'm able to solve.

Pretty panties resting on her shins. Moist watercolors on the canvas of vagina. Love happens in stiff stabs. The razor in the feathers. The girl in her gown. Waiting for the next song. when everyone has already danced.

Coaxing the physics. As she must. Certain her addition is not enough. Counting clouds. Too close. As the sky comes closer. She reaches. To rearranged their graves. And finds herself among the dead.

Arguing with glass. As the reflection proposed. That the future was as far away as it had always been. And the past still to close..

She took her medicine as any devoted addict would. The prostitute in her cereal. Grinding the oats. She listened to the atoms as they collided. In stretches of plastic and ready skin.

She fed the wolf. Eager for the villains to give her an excuse. For this mess.

The acrobat on her trapeze. The time machine on its last legs. Filling the future with all dead things that ask these questions.