filing thru stacks of paper
coiling your coated tongue
lifting a word or two and beckoning for breath

scurry about your business
discern good to be done
reason yourself to death

it's going away
ebbing off and quiet
out of breath and words are all that's left

license to linger static
is the dusk and fleeting hue
a setting sun that sinks down into the sea
systems of bleeding logic
are the sound that shadows you
tenets of empty you and often me