The story in which the other wasted bottom dismisses her own route to the oddly safe shock

Against her bland backdrop of albescent tunnel vision

   - expressing something deep within
   loaded with dense long material

Long ago she quit the river,
   could not hold her uneven bottom
   too long,
Young, disheveled wet,
   tiled against a captured sky
   in the peripheral game
      of the lovely antiquated

The world is a sigh
The sites in the mind where things have happened
are visited by emaciated frothing thieves,
  their daggers in their sides