Edges

little changes. posture at her hips. like impotent demons. The tips cut from their tails. conversing with the clock. though time does not belong to it. the hours thunder in her ears. battles mutually lost. the minutes pour like rain. the flood is the only right thing amongst all these biting grains of sand.

naming the monsters. because they are hers alone. letting them name her. since she's forgotten who she is. everyone is a stranger. and strangers are the only people that I know.

the stairs pretend. the sky bends down to make me think it's close. it's as beautiful as any lie has ever been. obese with promises doomed to be broken.

sometimes she's deaf. a witch in quicksand on her last spell. sometimes she's blind. feeling in the dark for things so close. Sometimes she's nothing. pulling on the threads of naked ghosts.

the edges all she knows.


*****


this will be my 2,000th post. Not that I was counting.