Drawing Lines with Fists

told by their stories. rivets and slashes. and empty elevators that tend to stop between floors. her reasons deflect and surrender. in a rage of fluorescence. the dull grind of hollow light. vomitting the middle. Choking on the end.

colorful suicides. add their taut punctuation to otherwise simple tales of discovering isolation. a series of twig houses. each one faithfully crumbling on top of its pig.

choice is no more linear than memory is. a jagged seam in the truth. a bent needle heavy with thread. life wears us. in creases and folds. toothless predators menacing ghosts.

the hour surprises her with an obsenity of lovers. pennies for the fountain. borrowed poisons. cripple, but rarely kill.