Handmade bombs taped to the support
beams of roller coasters somehow never
explode. Her legs were pale like paper
and she had the urge to just envelope them
with ink.
The air-conditioned teeth of the filters
cough due to the abundance of buildup,
and cannot scrape it off without their
People stand in lines and wait for them to
signal it’s all clear, and that the
disturbance was nothing more than just
a viscous lie.
They paint over all the dusty shelves
so the colors shift as uncontrollably as the dirt.
A half eaten orange melts in the sun in the
narrow band of tall grass at the bottom of
the fences, too heavy to be carried away by
the ants that diverge around it.

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