Sulphur

little black ducklings. in between tuxedos. dance naked for their documentary. ugly is the new beautiful.

she digs her tunnels. narrow passages through the dense oblivion of time. counting backward from zero. until there is something positive.

she picks at the gear shift. teases the clutch. pleasure is a highway. skin a vehicle. the distance between too great to measure.

they point at her. long bent fingers. sticks and stones. left in the grass. After the windows are broken. And the bruises faded. she was yesterday. long needles. stuck on knotted threads. the wind and the rain rushing in. while the years escape.

simple equations. the arithmetic of lonely men. like checkerboards. Sliding bishops Trusting the rook to finish the slaughter. the war is fought in the squares. not the men.

dry matches. confess her. in fires yet to come.

she burns.

quietly.

until there is nothing left.