permanence-in-flux

closed off quiet, thumbs pressed into palms silent. sweat in the eyes and defiant breath patterns. why it comes so slowly i'll never know. call us detritus, crumbs caught in the beard of— i don't believe in god; i've heard the earth beg and i've seen the earth break and i am the earth. danger is a failure i chose while his eye was on the sparrow, the straight and narrow, some upstate pastor and not the dead child. the lack of perspective is blinding; the book tastes the same whether pages or binding. even if there were words enough to set fire to doubt, to make liar out of logic, to make observation moot, it would all feel a noose.