Silent Atlas

my broken dolls. their fragile plastic smiles. weightless anchors in the contagion of our discontent.

she paused. her voice thick with regret. paper bridges under the heft of the sun. pieces of the math. that sorts. the bones and the flesh. the little lies. and the big ones. all crimson and pus.

the uneven tableau of our voices. all the pulleys and levers that spoil the physics. the thrust of velocity. the recoil of spin. the perpendiuclar science of want.

merciless monsters bartering in flesh. lost kites and torn balloons in the ozone of our forfeit.

the cage. the sanguine crucifix of her consent.

no scale by which to measure. no map to indicate where. only the fortitude of the chase. and the shallow of her tears.