Words are like bricks.
You pile them up
and then you have text.
But these days, words melt in my mouth
before I can build anything.
Like glaciers my words retreat,
like seashores my words erode,
like paper my words fade out,
and they become a smothering dust
that choke the inner flame that fuels my craft.
Perhaps I'm wrong to think that words are bricks.
Perhaps they were never meant for building rigid structures.
Perhaps words are the retreating glaciers,
the eroding seashores,
the fading paper,
and perhaps the smothering dust
was the stuff of my craft all along.
Words do not bring order to chaos.
They bring chaos to order.
Words quench the flame
until chaos can finally flow
freely in lethal