we breathe wretched with this dreadful
formatting, a suit, a gown, a straitjacket of
space and punctuation and woven falsifications,
authentic second-hand feelings reduced
to the uninformed uniform extremities of the
third person: where is the truth in these extraneous layers?
answer: answer with a colon, distance, detachment;
wretched, wretched with a scream! there are
no words to find buried down deep
because writing is dying
and writing is lying
and the agents of truth are cold in the ground.