Ringing the Bell

the action spoils the intent. the future in high heels. the past still wet cement.

her pail is empty as the moat swells with ocean. the tide comes in. and eventually leaves. depositing strangers at her doorstep. taking away with it bits of her castle into the insatiable sea. quite an uneven exchange.

the dark tugs on the zipper's pull. the silence pushes apart the teeth. she scribbles on the map. feigning a route. if only she could remember where she began.

she slips out of the costume. herself a pile at her feet. she gazes upon the empty skin. lengthy funerals of when. she presses on the wrinkles. the ugly folds of Pavlov's condition. gauging their resistance. certain she'll still find herself somewhere inside them.