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.

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