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excavating blank pages to tug out words left rotting in between lines
assembled in pearly strings of suppressed fumes. Noxious and delicious
striking each word carefully till only a blot remains
rendered full of black spots are holes that live alone
in a dark tepee of their own life. Recalling time when they were alive as misshaped alphabets
until struck down by the redundancy of their actuality
their demise was quick, yellowing pages of history books
drafted with earnest weariness, a need to never remember the reality of it all
each conquest a rewritten line of infamy
slashed with lacerating hatred of spilled years
continuously changing to fit a new song as told differently
abstracted proportions haphazardly cuboid distressing signals
misinterpreted in mysteries insufficient to fill spaces
dispersed in seeds obtusely whispered as knowledge, a propaganda of all ages