casual gods. carving paradise from stale coffee and cigarette butts.
we are an abundance of spaces. with no way inside them. we are a dry cough on the lips of eternity. no cure. only the sharp salinity of collapsing silence.
the choke of time. all used condoms and barking dogs.
the pot constantly simmers, but rarely comes to a boil.
she bargains with the soldiers. though she knows the war doesn't belong to them. she marks the path. though she's certain it leads nowhere.
it's only sober. pretending to recognize her.
a putrid sniff of how. a frigid burst of when. a manic funeral. the superlative treason of skin.
the broken author. the spoiled poet. the oblivious artist.
fraying adverbs drown in the dysfunctional narrative of touch.
the inexplicable proximity of surrender. the curious distance to close.
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