Empty Elevators

the numbers stopped counting too long ago to still taste.
jagged templates of skin layered like abandoned graves.

time is a solvent. that turns mercenaries into beggars.

the body is an equation. doomed to be reconciled only in death.

sometimes we cut slowly with worn blades that bend to easily.
the parable of our contentment stumbling over its choices.

eyeless dolls in sugar dresses. swaying to songs only they can hear.

sometimes we cut quickly with claws
that grow sharper the more that we use them.

angry kittens in a sinking basket.

time looks in our windows. with big eyes and clenched fists.

we pretend not notice as it chews on the glass.