Donations of Skin

she waits. with her tongue in chains. atoms expanding. a stairway to the past. in generous echoes of scabs and stains. there is nothing.

some ugly king wears the crown. reciting passages from smudged pages. the gospel of the desperate. darkness and skin. so vain. it doesn't notice. the fingers of gravity tugging. those haunted houses in her head. more corpses than ghosts. rattling their chains. pretending it matters. what is dead.

she listens. her ear to the wormhole. the distance between here and forever shrinking. touch like catapults hurling boulders. she's doomed to keep pushing.

it's just tomorrow she says. in brief flux of comfort. we've already been there. hollow skulls in our hands. speaking words lips dare not say. it's just a machine. the cold mechanics of touch. fail to make us human again.

the hours spread their legs. certain this disease is the right one.