Words roll off these fingers like bine-steams, wrenching out:
to be displayed. To be the first to express lugubrious thoughts
would fathom to never sprawl words for you to perceive, see
once again. Can this time for me be unceasing, a way for me
to leave my emblem? But there is no necessity for my imprint.

I have strummed these... these heart-strings, brain-strings, oh:
how quickly these concepts seep away. And to be, nonbeing
will these expressions be rendered? Ideas, differentiating, will
become illusory. Will the words cast off...as if they were never
to be concocted? I strive for a chance...chance of opportunity.

The nearest sense that peels for words, I go completely blinded:
only one moment. So, impelling muse, the love life, hoax-lament,
fades into sheer blankness. It goes winding on, and lingers....and
lingers to a timeless day. Can I continue watching the sky spiral,
the colors move ruthlessly? I will write these endurances, always.