1.19.2011

sentim.



Yvaine is collapsing beneath the weight of imploding galaxies.

celestial bodies don’t always dance; sometimes they stumble,

& in the space of those faltered steps, there is a kind of painful silence -

the sort that descends when someone voices a question

& no one knows the answer.


the wrench is gone, or at least, she can’t feel its weight in her palms any longer

& the stars have ceased to consult her before moving on or off their orbital patterns.

a layman’s hands are his welfare,

& so, it seems this month she starves.

(& at the word, Enna cracks a smile)


heavenly bodies may well be the answer to one of these ‘unanswerables’,

but system overload is the main malfunction of this engine;

the diagnostic readout has been screaming it in little red digital rat pellets for days now.

sigh, sigh, sigh.

it never rains but it pours.




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