Points of Entry

imperfect thieves baste in their hunger. cats without claws. voices too soft to be heard.

gravity starts the clock. time moves all the pieces. our clays hammers rendered useless. as everything goes hard. our long nails fastening nothing in particular.

the curve spends its changes in spit and pennies. a series of poor choices where language defaults to touch. all the June in her thighs obliterated by the October in her head.

we say our words. tiny knives that barely break the skin. we pretend to listen. when all we really want is to be heard.

the angles sharpen. we bicker over the degrees. Convinced the math is mistaken.

she slips out of her September skin.

his winter almost forgotten.