so perhaps I can demote you
a reduction of premiers
pulling threads, revealing where
you’d abrade me in a year
are you something fruitful or sparse?
do we trace decay in a landfill of indifference
a half-life of avoidance
and the door remains shut
a postulate smashed
models and simulations corrupted
fraying at the edges, stripped from where I attempted to attribute inability for malice
you corrupt yourself further from perfection to putridity
outliers upon outliers pockmark the data
unrecognizable from original forecasts
you dot the median
a disproof of hope.
cords to walls and a cheek to the floor
flickering in and out of obsolescence
brief places to rest, then out of sight
filed under a minor history
closure sits in waterlogged volumes
a footnote penciled beyond the margin
and though I’ve worn thin all the pages
there is no comfort here
a lie for consolation
scattered on the mirrored floor
nerves stretched over switchboard keys.
the vein stitched shut
mining dead deposits
tracing back fragments to abandoned sites.
the breath ripped from my chest
scorching vital documents
you clear the desk of ash.
alchemy: exchanging gold for lead
we’ve perfected the art of denouement down to a science.