• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 10


One headstone curve
and no compromise.

Comb’s-teeth waisted,
like staves without sound.

A slab, slate cold, and
lines that write nothing.

Hobbling oblong pawprints
mark a short dark road.

Right angles; x, y axes
half-frame dusty space.

An empty altar, waiting.
God’s blunt limb, reaching.

Never touching.