fractions

Just before the smoke subsides, just before the light weighs in, just before the cacophony of another day winds its way through the doorjambs and window glass, there is one slip left of the world you lose. As these tattered flags of worn-through flesh ripple upon the tent stake and kindling limb of rolling bones, as eyes slip along the ceiling and the walls, the questions escape at last. What name, what nature, what land unfurls within? The trailing grace of words sparking some unsettling flint, lighting at last another day of life.

Now the clouds of gnats have gathered. Now the sun has burrowed beneath the sky. All the constellations find their footing, and the music of unhinged meat takes to the wind. I scratch at some mysterious wound, wondering vaguely what chance has caused me harm. The skin has already begun its worrisome stitching. Maybe the scars will stay to hint of history. Maybe this skin exists for these swarms to feast upon. An indefensible host of hosts.

The stranger in the shadow, the face in the mirror, all the names spat into the wandering air. Everything in half measures-- the greater the contentment, the more horrible the crime. The day crunches beneath the feet of these lost crowds, the night warms to the subtle invasions of all these failed dreams. The best marbled portion is still burned upon the altar, hoping these tags and stragglers will be enough to safe guard my insolence. This noisy worship exhausting the empty embers of the world.