the forward jut of her jaw speaks
in glowing amber
she says this word at ten
and turns onto that street at twelve
there are always
secret combinations
of numbers
secret combinations
of numbers
and colors
He recognizes this and holds
the prongs of each detail
inches away from the alternating
current of public opinion
it’s part of the plot
to get him
so he invents story after story
and always there are secret combinations
a certain number of syllables
with the necessity of emphasizing
the right one
so he must be vague
deceptive
precision might unravel the helix
where adenine follows cytosine
in the seventh strand
he mustn’t unlock doors
through which he can
never pass
never pass
but in the end
all sequences seem out of order
so he aligns with
the emission
of dying photons
kneels by the bedside
he abandoned
bereft
deranged
by the regular arrangement
of atoms.
(inspired by Kirks's post)
