Irrational Constants

the flesh is spent in jagged confections. sweet and dark like an animal beaten. a long series of small suicides. more curiosity than despair. 

the dolls tug on their strings. suffocating under their heavy dresses. still remembering how wonderful it once was to be only a skeleton. weightless and free. of all this dead skin. 

the thieves don't know what to steal. the monsters are frightened of us. 

our ends precede us. in every sense. 

time decays. a turpentine mistress. against our marriage to yesterday. 

the spiders turn in their webs. caught in their own devices. 

tomorrow scratches on our windows. an orphan climbing a shaky ladder. 

the gondolier swallows the water as his boat parses the waves. his eyes trace the sun. searching for sight in his growing blindness. 

we turn. insolvent conspirators on an unyielding stage. pulling on the masks that have become our faces.