No useful words, pacify
Voluble thrust to any meaning
Whose existence I prey upon
Digressing in an aimless wander;
Superfluously pumping out, stale breath
All ink dries down, pale and rootless;
Feeble and crumpled, life pages won’t flip
Whose books are leaning the sky stacks
Full of dust and rusted time;
Miserly flipping low of strength
Fixing space with a nail, with one hedge,
I keep myself safe
Unruly time intrude my stony silence
Paving time to crush the lot; yet
From the wanton deep, I take to willful win
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