The calendar has reached its limits. The revelations come around again. The world ends because it was written. The world ends in a shower of words and sparks.
I suppose I had exhausted the plausibilities. Painted again and again into that corner. Always the proximity alarm and the semantic error. Always the cliffhanger and the inevitable fall. My timing adjusted by season and circumstance. My ephemera ending up the bulk of my concerns. Tomorrow never shows, however the candles are burned.
The hinges complain as the door is closed. The latches clasp as stiffly as the locks. The complicity of the aggregates is the weight of the sin. Matter all insistence and holding hands. Matter a suspension of disbelief. I lock up and close the doors. The words written down after all the lights go down.