wrr.ng
WHERE MORTALITY WITHERS
The paper, My plate, On it I serve, Words like a buffet. Chopped up In chapters. Meat balls For stanzas. With you, Have I slain words, The corpse Buried in books The blood of ink Have I smeared. On the skeletons, Of history. Like a gong, I hear your call From afar, Like a waterfall, I am drawn To