Disconnect
Discontent?
Discounted descendants of despondent relentlessness...
We resent the respect
of the restless
I don’t need my own fortress, a castle of class...
Perhaps just the Countess who
Must count them at last
An atlas
An island
the last stand
on stale land...
straw man
in the sand
poor me some sugar,
Tell me you’re sober
I love November
And all of it’s splendor
Silence so Somber,
resilience stands stronger
I always thought of you as that strong silent type.
Helvetica, is that you?
How the hell are you?
How are you? Where you been?
You’ve been running round Georgia for the Times New Roman again?
Times New Roman,
squares, numerals, but no new murals,
No numerals or plurals...
"Our numbers are zero," she so patiently declares. "We have 12 times 12 for a 144 square."
But alas, the doctors aren’t counting how many countesses appeared.