It coasts on the dips and dives along smooth muscle, contracting pushing, friction absent and lubrication self-perpetuating.
She called it a spiral, but I don't see it that way.
It is funny how the little things -- orange and purple and white petals strings of words together like beads white-bordered photographs in sepia -- are bigger than they should be and shrinking into the smallest spaces ubiquitous and permeating reproducing on and onward pulling.
How do you determine the area of a feeling how you wipe it down like auto wax all the crevices like jelly in the webbing between your fingers all the misplaced metaphor and you're assuming I know what you're talking about you're assuming I care.
I see them there in the bright lights. I want to be with them. I want to be a part of nothing. I want something to be a part of me.
The circle is the mockingest of shapes daring the others to find its edges a noose for the mathematician relying on impossible for truth discovery the approximation to determine strength or mass or density.
A curve is inherently incorrect and creates problems for the navigators who trust cohesion and consistency who trust each other in cohesion and constant and consistent standard creation who challenge the borders of the world and braid together the loose ends cruising on new planes.
I watched the wing fall into the water into the lake, that's a lake, right? It feels like it goes on forever.
Loud noise. Open eyes. Dart right and right. Grab. Hold. Release. Quiet.
In chalk on the floor, I drew one of those shapes. I crawled inside of it, curled up into it. I closed my eyes tight and held my knees together.