Serfs on the refrain wave at the hand, severed by the path they have come to know only since yesterday.
"Good bye," they said, all weary and tired from the expense and expanse that has engulfed and enveloped them like letters to America. Where there is not quite enough postage to cover the freight costs, but enough to curry the favour of the teller behind the counter.
It's a state of mind that leaves nothing for the execution of their own. Delirium sets in with a biting force of pangs, pains and swishing brains. Of all the protection from the outside a skull will provide, it cannot, sadly, offer any internal inertial dampening.
Tomorrow, that path will no longer be. A figment of the transposition in the days.
There for a second and gone for eternity.
Written on Wednesday, 18 October 2006