Playing with Matches

impossible trajectories. claws in the surface of the sun. empty hours transition. Burning stairways to heaven.

the mortar sets. cold and rigid. grinning paste. and sharp tongues. taste the white on the walls. the tempting doors. the curious ceilings. the missing floors.

there is duration to question. and there is distance to blame. simple games of stones and sticks. lengthy tournaments of batters and cages.

the sour math that time does. on fingers. toes and faces. fractions of gods as impotent as we are. lawn chairs and sprinklers under the swelter of suspicion. beautiful madmen. ripe with mania. tear open the clock. and watch as the minutes bleed out.

the end swallows. softly. farther still. it presses. the road unravelling like cheap carpet. the path undressing. like so many whores. gelatin nooses on paper gallows. violence makes sense of senseless things.

atoms prove how small we are. while Fission demonstrates how powerful small can be.