Perpetual Conditions of Skin

What goes. Goes slowly to be sure. Tangled amongst the dreadlocks of the wind as it casually tosses its head. Cold fingers frantically pressing. All the world's broken buttons.

The smaller monsters more comfort than threat. The hours flourish. In a fury of dark and light. Snarl and growl. Hunger raping darkness. In a patient oblivion.

The shadows posture. In grave expectations. Moments spin. Choked by the gasoline of their engines. Stalled by heavy brakes.

The answer lay at her feet. The decision still a few miles coming. Choices. Clean skeletons. A maze of bones in search of an exit.

The numbers. A kind of artist. Defiling the silence. With promises of us.

Gravity like a lasso. Yanks me back to the ground. Where I discover your footprints.