as if planned
from the body a body politic and a rage so complicated and definitive he had stepped back in awe
she knew how to panic and folded up the silver ceremoniously it was then light enough for the sky to open
sweeping the glitter from the floor a motion of her right arm a twist of his head dismembered fallen and forgiven
enough melodramatic wistfulness enough hours for the lynx enough in the house of secular movement for someone's idea of what this should be
he had an idea something dutifully ignored as the weeks went by as if planned
she deserves more credit for stumbling up a storm from the salt and returning from the earth to the mountain
when there are eyes she asks without lashes and lids what holds the soul in how do the torrents stay undercover where do all the bits of sand go
his body politic was something they never discussed her's was plowed over by the tenth sigh from the fourth house of the sun
fuck eternity he kept muttering in his sleep her instinct was to roll him over but there was something more which she found comforting
their water is colored and tainted chlorine he says nitrates just a fancy name for salt or fluorocarbons
blame nightmares on the water they decide fuck eternity he explains was a scarring encounter with saint peter
there is a rage carefully and tragically built up inside of her something which is held on by a string and she wonders daily what will be the camel
tying onto the imagined pair of shoes from fifth grade soft orange satin with butterflies for clasps another thing no one else would understand it is easier to sit in this world which belongs to someone else than claim it yourself
she used to look at grownups and the grown up things they did and imagine that one day that would be her but for some reason it isn't and she wonders where things went wrong there were those orange shoes the piles of library books baths where the water turned cold too soon and screaming radios at zero
a tragic sort of love immortalized in a pop song and pathetically turned public his public was one full of answers solutions and compromises her's stood waiting in isolation by the corner where fate merges with fiction and there are only bodies resting in the dust
