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