One forlorn word
Anonymous One forlorn word, a serpent slivering, born of air and air-borne. Many times you have spouted words hunky and funky and free in English and French and Frenglish. Who would’ve thought that they’d all come to naught? Denotation and connotation are but a banal perturbation nowadays. And all the -isms and -ologies whereby the tip of your tongue come unto the dusky moonshine have lost all sense. Yet the cacophony of harmonicas and the euphony of cannons are here to stay. But say, why would the world be any different for it? No, you see I don’t want words anymore. They mean nothing to me. But here comes another word, the last you’ll ever say to me-- sluggish and trite. Your once-innocent lips send a signal through the unruly calm of particles alight with the glimmer of death and roses. And one forlorn word falls on deaf ears. |