Practical Dilemnas

The composite. In threads of when. These feeble positions empowered the empty chambers. Where all this time travel happens. Or doesn't. Depending on where you end up.

This body taken. As a convenient place to land. Given failing engines. And the vast expanse of space between us.

Our future in thinning strands of hair. As her fingers comb through my many deceptions. I have no eyes. I have no limbs. I am only a voice to speak with. And ears to hear by. I wrestle with the garden for a fruit that is without sin. I barter with the wind. For a place to rest.

Bones give. And skin accepted. The limitations of the small worlds to which we have committed. She explains the world to me in simple arithmetic. Keep dividing until there is no remainder.

All our choices tainted by the virulent whims of impotent victims.