i could hear the clicking through the crowd
the rings fitting together as a fist closed
it took me down
down the stairs.
an orphans hand.
an old mattress, warm from years of sleeping bodies
i slept like the dead,
fitting so in it's passive history.
gently erasing.
i woke with nothing 
in a nest of monsters
no mirror to tell a face
no name to remember
counting my bloody teeth

the brutal ring 
the pirates ring 
the wedding ring 
the fools ring 

grace can be smoke or mountain