Merchants

the glass in his fist. sharper because he has picked it up. the broken container. its contents. only the stench and her spilled blood remains of them. the weight of the sound forces her up on the fulcrum. closer to the sky. a good fall is what she wants.

the dirty broom is drawn from the closet. the shards are swept carelessly from the floor. she's angry. she shouts. she cuts herself. on bits of the puzzle still unsolved.

she listens. the way all the deaf do. closely to the silence. tugging on her ear. as the monsters circle her bed. Laying poison for the predators. And hoping they're still hungry.

testing the scales. the mass of moving particles. the differential inertia presents. dead birds on the patio. flat tires on the engine. Womrholes gone. and the weak imposition of gravity. as she sheds her clothes. for another thrust at pretending to be.

someone else.

The merchants in her panic. Putting a price on everything.