the poems come torrentially, hurricane, waterfall & tornado are working adjectives worthy of the task, yet unequal to the unlimited army of the written dead of unread poems and poets that occupy the nether of blog, podcast, and poetry sites, orphan stars in the un-salvaged junkyard galaxy of verbiage
a faceless wight, once alive, now permanently dead, we shuffle march, chanting each our own newbie poem, onward soldiers to ignominy and glory so fleeting, we are forgot before we are remembered
this is life in poetry, or better yet, the worst of it, (sigh) this is the poetry of lives
all for nought, nought for all, at least we pass our prison time in the company of fellow strugglers