inertia.

Mind is cotton. Ears are drums. Eyes are mirrors.

Staring at blank pages, empty cups, dirty windows.

Everything has settled, there in the corner. Everything that was has been. Everything that will be waits and rots. Coffee beans and chocolate chip muffins and tomato sandwiches. Strawberry danishes and kouign-amanns and Earl Grey tea.

Dust shrouds the calcified surfaces of vanilla lattes, rims the edges of half-eaten pastries, layers between the folds of torn napkins.

Everything has settled, and everything is finished.

Tongue is stone. Legs are straw. Arms on wire.

Posed and stuck, rusted over, broken off.

Bones are glass.

Heart is an asteroid.

.

.

.

Falling.

.

.

Falling.

.

Flame.