autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Scene from a party, in prose

She’s a glass figurine,
walking through life crazed;
tiny fractures seem solid
when viewed at distance

Repeated concussions,
given by careless hands,
tissue trauma, her wrapper;
chips sparkle as if diamonds

Across the room, she is brilliant.

Dusky bisque with just a hint
of ancient blood ‘neath her cheeks;
memories of free-falling
reflected in a momentary blush

Indifferent, like a razor on silk.

The string of broken hearts,
broken lives, broken dreams,
scattered shards on marble;
history repeating, sharp legacy

Broom and dustpan, drooping,
clean up on aisle seven,
abandoned, she abandons;
sitting sideways on a dusty shelf

Pristine but for the cracks.