Ockham's Razor

in the dusk. in the place between where we are and where we've been. the evolution of want. in spoiling blisters and chafed skin.

perfect distances pretend to see us. imagining patterns in the calamity of touch. defective dolls with microscopic hammers. banging on mountains.

in the morning. before we are divided and spent. there's still something resembling a whole. full of colors and venom and opiates. a confection of skin. more trial than evidence.

an array of decisions. simple slopes. difficult math. solving for naught.

we are linear. little screws shouting into the wind. chased by the shadows we pursue. a needle left in a vein. a bottle on the the edge of the table. all the wars we wage within ourselves.

seldom she confesses. from within the fold of her time machine. the equal division of paradise that is ours to manipulate. the collapse. the simple fluidity as the axiom insinuates. slow moving numbers through the inflated expanse of why. our eventual leap. gravity's inevitable betrayal. a perfect thief.