Partial arms. Reach up from the soil. From this distance the sun is in their palms. Pillars of perspective. Unfortunately aware. Of all the dead things at their shins. The hooker with a penis discards her dress. Need like an empty swimming pool. I'll drown long before the empty catches up to us.
These filthy hands count the raindrops they cannot catch. Far away watercolors seduce the flood. In chaotic suicides some hear as music. The deserts are cleansed of everything but sand. A virulent nothing. Fists of her face as she begins to draw her pictures again.
Per a version of the truth. The prod digs the gods from their sleep. Their relentless nightmare of people. All clown faces. In tears.
The nose falls off. The makeup begins to streak. She wears it hard. A costume with concrete sleeves. The black and white mask pretends to comfort her. As her arms weaken under the weight. Of too much nothing.
