It hit us, short-sleeved and slightly burnt. In our pockets, the instantaneous vibrations brought us luck, smiling and lifted up. Fingers flexed, keys hitting: of summer’s sweat and groan, heat seeking us like a drone. These months were seconds of silence and wind, preceding violence before it ruptured right through. Struck down in the mist of numbers, on a single foot prime and backward, where integrity fell through.
Have you ever watched a statue crumble to the ground? It falls one part at a time, inside out, imploding. Resisting gravity like a whale skimming the ground. I hear the cries now and wonder if they’re still waiting there, grieving. Floating past their giant mouths opening, ready to swallow me whole.