what words will crumble
The sadness of the world is so much that sometimes you just have to laugh. Comedy is only twin to tragedy, laughing a twin to crying. When words strike back I wish to strike. And what of the scabs, the picket line-crossing scabs? I don't know what to do with the things I say, I could hardly bare the weight of each new utterance, each like an anvil falling from my lips, their topple to the floor un-ignorable. I am now the spoken and not the speaker.