Engineering Flesh

we still live in those plastic houses. we still talk like there were no casualties. we still shout like someone is listening. long after all the bodies have been buried. 

i see the needle. i understand the thread. but the stitches fail. nothing connects. 

time is as certain. as am i. 

the pieces falter. the image fades. 

tiny creases convince the paper into shapes almost impossible. 

we hold it up to the light and marvel at the structure of intricate manipulation.  we hold it up to the light and wonder how the truth could be so fragile.