\"One-Size Fits All\"
The invoice promised a universal match,
but it balances stilted on the skull
—a rigid piece of factory hardware
refusing to contour to actual bone.
It snags on the unbrushed margins of the mind,
trapping erratic, stray impulses
against its cold, unyielding curve.
There are no adjustment screws for the soul.
Down it slips, an assembly-line visor,
casting a fierce, synthetic glare
that burns the eyes instead of clearing the view.
A localized eclipse.
Still, the walk continues,
accompanied by the hollow chatter of cheap tin
vibrating with every uneven stride.
It wobbles like a spun token on a countertop,
caught forever between currency and junk.
And in quiet intervals,
beneath bright, flaking laminate,
metal aches with a heavy, dull recall
— mourning specific, deliberate fire
that never got to forge it.
.