I ask, ‘what good is a word…wrapped in barbwire?‘
It is expression squeezed dry of color.
Cross-words lacking landscape…deprivation in an isolated world.
An imperfect storm in which memory is unfurled.
All this language bantered about with the hue of integrity bleeding out.
When will childhood become a Polaroid from the past?
Words, words, words, ugly…looking to get further down the road.
Not knowing where they were first planted.
