As crepuscular embers fracture window panes,
The mind wares the solace of this paragon host.
Destitute, edentulous, declawed.
Is joy only to be found in the exchange of hands and throats?
And I took more than my fathers name;
I took his blood and his voice and his pain.
So what is it that separates?
Am I the emanation of original thought or am i just the sum of the harbingers' tale?
Am I never alone or am I bound to wade in the vapid wake?
"Could we be the limbs of a möbius soul?"
The panglossian being wonders.
And wanders.