Compartments

starve the oven. gorge the cold. all her munitions lay beneath the skin. all her grendades are suspender in time. Forcing the the polarity. As she is often wont to do. Eager for the shock.

There's too much. taste in this starvation. too much drunk in this sobriety. the shifting gears of virulent machines. tell time in missing skin. and sore than won't heal.

she frets the meat. and the grains. her starvation. a choice. Teasing the years in a circus of faces. Big hair and red noses. Patting the darkness. For any sense of occasion.

the elevators betweeen floors. All the escapes blocked. By the dead.