It was a bright cold day in April but the clocks weren’t
put to work that AM,
and we were left to fend for
the us of
We shall meet in the place there is no darkness, they said,
but we weren’t ready to welcome light.
Minority of one,
insisting two and two simply have no sum,
as if he expected we’d
It’s a beautiful thing,
the destruction of words,
and in forests
trees could all
fall crooked but
they’d claim to have heard the sounds of
falling skies, able to save us.
But if thought
corrupts the language, does conversation
undermine intentions paving yellow
brick roads to Hell?
If you want to
keep a secret, you must first
hide it from yourself.