Les Mots, Les Vers, Le Pain

words are not well today; starched you ate them up like bread in a box they slowly spoiled; parched charnel house for the unsavory dead. they’ve pickled long in quiet brine meaning chokes; forms bind brackish style and sly shade of lime but not the wit once thought entwined Yesterday, words were silkworms crawling naked through town Godiva white - stiff, gluey germs but now words have become unsettled and vague no longer stuck like papier mache but strewn out in bodies of an undying plague most beautiful array The words are not well today.