The air unfolds slowly, the weight and temperature of fevered flesh. The feel of skin on skin as I walk through the atmosphere, moving from room to room. The moon slips in through the screen, another stranger staring through shadows. My breath is a tide of ragged whispers and broken hinges. Too much is never enough.
I close my eyes and listen to the fan shoving dust around. I watch the shadows crawl up the wall, headlights shoved through blinds and glass. There is the television, there is the radio. There is the computer, full of light and distance. Everything overwhelms or misses the mark. I float somewhere between notions. I am suspended between arguments for everything I am against.
It is night and it is dark, my head is cluttered with teeth and shadows. Each day passes without note, each night flies like time plus fun. My life is stuffed in boxes, my life is stacks of books, memories that keep recurring, thoughts I can't think through. Most every contingency plan I have has a caliber or a gauge. My breath is a crowd of rags and spiders. Outside the world smolders away.
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