Steep Hills In Both Directions

soft stalks in the thick grass. tease the sun. assuming life is residual. or some form thereof. her bricks carry her. in stiff tongues and absent martyrs. life is small. smaller than we ever imagined.

shattered tiles  on the stairs. the impossible logic of trust. simmers and burns in its empty pot. the gentle paradox of deception. boasts its graves in fractions of the original math. there is no such thing as addiction of subtraction. only corners where the shadows relent.

this long walk forgets the obvious parables. the distance concerns itself only with the echo. the mind's beating drum. the simple rhythm of pulsating skin. stubborn electrons racing against entropy.

Wooden steps wear their beginnings in broad clouds and questionable loyalties. We continue our climb. Confident that the altitude is sufficient to offset foul weight of gravity.

life arrives in hammers. Exits in nails. an innocent tangle of freedom. an immense wall of choices. a tricky prison not without its weaknesses.