Dried Ink
There's consolation in knowing
the rise and fall of angles;
the whorled tempests of
alpha and omega.
Liquid vowels
and hiccuping consonants
curiously curled around
the pith of visions.
Silent expressions
circumcised by dots,
paused by chubby tadpoles
that pollinate fertile thoughts
with deliberate moments.
Hyphenated hybrids
capture imagination
in new-sprung, cursive concepts.
But Oh! How I love
the silent ellipses,
the endless music of
The End...
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