The Effort of Words Isn’t Enough

by direful

the any words

became the town

to empty.

precis of elegiac

with ghosts and

QUests, season

of which

b' ecomes

the registry

factotum.

Not that

data bank in mercury

sLiNK, gonna

build my house

NeXt door to you.

Those words will remain

willing and town.

small vision in be

tWEen the molecular

nothing. damage

Is dun, colour

remains bent.

build

a house next

dOOr to yoU.

Babylon

is laid to waste.

small words the

people town, children

almost home.

Comments

Words

From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.

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