She wraps the loose string
from her sleeve around her finger,
and as it tightens she remembers
all the sounds. The raining glass
from shattered streetlights
overblown with power
from the place up on the hill
with all the wires.
Cables like snake heads growing
from snake heads. Hissing at the sky
all their spitting sets the ground
around them ablaze with perfect fire.
Who is the liar out here
where the truth is backed into
a corner and beaten for its money.
Where pools of blood form
from the drips of bleeding jaws
scraped against the ground.
Within the numbness, thoughtless
roars the only sound.

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