Help
comes in many shapes - this
one happens to be a
too-many-fingered hand,
slathered in chocolate
sauce, rolled in some off-brand
sugar cereal, and
held out to tantalize
me
as if any pool of
desperation could be
deep enough for me to
shake it. Its syrupy
filth would soon seep just as
liquid-hot slag into
every syllable I
write,
setting it and all else
aflame. But take comfort,
friends - the war is elsewhere,
and soon they'll bless us to
reduce ourselves to sleep,
and dream of the ghost that
animates the machine.
No comments:
Post a Comment