Withering Certainties

soft corners name their angles. without voices. the journey bites down. the distance swallows hard. there are ways to measure. but none that matter now.

the cold comes and goes. the bluster of life. all screws to turn and nails to hit. creating nothing new. strangled by the relentless bleak of her hope. a silken noose that strangles, but doesn't kill.

the science of touch is a gorgeous treason. these bodies all combustion and thieves.

flesh like maps. leads us. everywhere and no place. empty boxes. full of life and death. broken gardens teeming with snakes. the shadows beat their drums. the darkness sings. tomorrow's metaphor solves for now.

the flame starts and finishes by the same small spark.

the end of the world is quiet. it's only the beginning that's loud.