The Unspoken Word

 

                      Hello? 
                                         Hello? 

There is no talking! This is dumb piece 
                                                                     of paper covered with blotto stains 
                            grease lips all over it.                 
Can the can't.

                                               Eat the words.

The core is language. 
                     Eat that, too!

Once upon a tiny little once. 
But often, more than likely. What happens is this: 
The truth is in the telling, the tasting. 
Add salt. 
Corrupt the pipeline. 

                                                                 Art and Industry swagger down the aisle, hand in 
claw.

I have been asked to speak to you 
                                     but my tongue 
                      has another opinion. 
Right is wrong.

Whenever her fingers slide into the machine, Africa winces with pain. 
                                                                            Terror and treachery make fine breakfast.

As I was saying towards end of line, prose. 
                       Taste a fat chunk o' prose. Is all prose, baked, wilted. Except rose.

                                                  Freedom is pregnant with democracy's bastard, all lies. The poor cannot get to sleep. 
                                        Steady goes the junk food.

                                                                                            Merciless climate,
                          The homeless congregate for more than warmth.

 Slow reptilian devolution. Music is bought and silence is the price. Meanwhile, there is 
no meanwhile. This is not the end. This is.

PS

Will respond more fully when moon rises and I can read the book
To sleep