Whither?

We walk by in the ghetto of our continuance uprooted and burned from the inside; first like sharp twinges, annoying pokes, which accrue to a fugue of convulsions, the mind shouts out in an empty opera house, tongue ripped, a shattering silence courts the faithful officer summoning a last dint of pedigree, while his troops turn into drunken vociferous brigands.

The threshold betwixt resignation and negation is our socle, hapless we scour the hinterlands of moody shores; none of their fields and cities amount to a pleasant idyl, the heart sobs tears of blood as our desire without a name whirls away behind the rustling curtains of astral symphonies.

Still, we canoe through rapids and boggy waters in an open casket that contains the flexion of laughing dread;yonder greets our pendant, an unwieldy bungling tree exercising a pathetic balancing act to rest afloat in these milling bodies on the tips of its roots.

We are in distinguished fellowship.