Heavy Bucket

Choices. Bent hangers at the back of her throat. Lead fingers sifting stones. She wears the yellow. In gentle creases that pretend to know. The impact this distance has on how much further there is to go. Dense kings deferring to their jokers. This skin my only wager. This game impossible to know.

The bridge sways. Cloaked in the logic of physics. Bending so that it needn't break. Or so that is the plan.

The numbers travel. A stuttering parade. Through broken glass. The future ours only in theory. The universe expanding on the bile of the past. She balances on the nail. Anticipating the hammer's strike. She dances on the demon's ass. suffocating in its shit. No heroes. Only men in capes. And the empty masks left in their wake.

The tempest sheds its teapot in an abrupt flourish. The stage thin. The current thinner. The audience science enough.