Make a Fist & Tongue the Knuckles by Emily O’Neill
People keep themselves to themselves. Sometimes they share in America’s weird lands of Florida. The secrets of that humidity are hot with heat. Lies rest themselves in the atmosphere convincing residents of Florida that it is a fine place to live, probably the biggest lie that Florida ever told besides pretending to have an economy, yet another lie. Bends of the truth and ankles are roughly the same thing at times as the truth gets dressed up made to look so lovely.
States of snow tend to be bitter. The cold does that to people. Freezers there try to replicate the exquisiteness of eternity, through vast fields of snow. Up from the sky the clouds consider the snow to be candy, sugars thrown at people. On the ground they accumulate trying to take up as much space as possible. Luck has a lot to do with this phenomena and many more. Poverty does not have any luck built into it. Cruel, it becomes crueler with social norms that dictate why people are poor, things about laziness, about not working hard enough or smart enough. While they try to hide there is no place to hide from the police when one is poor. America refuses to allow comfort to its poorest citizens opting to pass legislation against them instead.
Across the lands people shake their heads at this problem. Disagreement is easier than agreement, it requires less knowledge. Sundays were made for a lack of knowledge of languid luxuries. Various laws exist for Sundays, to dictate what must happen on any given Sunday. Like a dream they rush by, as children running down the sidewalks of America wondering where everybody else is while cars drive past. Planted on the immaculate lawns that adjoin those sidewalks are homes foreign to the lands. Like invasive species, the suburbs sprawl with seemingly no end in sight if one stands in the right place.
Eventually it finds itself burned to a crisp all of it all of the things. Things are just nothings. People hurt each other with these things hurt themselves with these things yet are charged in full for the privilege. Bodies swim through these things, dresses, various articles of clothing. Cleanliness can’t happen with such stuff as the stuff loses importance as it increases in scope and size. Hunger for wisdom refuses to accept materialism as an answer. Wonderlands are surprisingly sparse for some for the right ones. Sin too can be awfully minor to count as sin. Long ago the standards were lower but they’ve increased along with the size of the population they cover. Breaths come by with every moment of life the rot of the air on a person’s breath determined by how long it has been since they answered a question honestly.
Devils dance within sin. They like the cliffs that the words create. Red smears all the evil of the world. Blood boils with the right toast even the wrong one. Leaving is easy for a person at any moment they can escape. The tricky thing is returning. Cycles try to point this out as gravity makes it impossible to ever reach the peak, the height of the cycle the high point before it all slides again. Standing still is too hard most can’t even be bothered to try.