"I said, there is home."
to nobody.
different names never changed
a **** thing.
we could see no people
to/who/that learn how idle
doesn't mean "still".
they've made a god of progress;
progress is toothpaste in a sink.

who couldve sown those ideas
together had they not been
all blinking buzzing neon sign
in the window of the page?

probably quite alot of folks
had they not been so busy
wiping dried blue Colgate off
of porcelain.

simple, remember?

so it goes.
always.
dosey doe down long hallways,
around puddles of ****,
singing songs long faded
to ambient noise.
please, mumble a myth for the void to posion.
the void in your avoidance.
the void in the poignancy.
the void on the points of stolen steak knives stuck in the hearts of the strigoi
shuffling outside our windows
day and night.

drip gold from the mouths of memorial statues,
we need that.
badly.