Save me from this prison I built in the sewers of my mind. Save me from this the sewer I built in the gutters of this world. Save me from all of the people that are trying to immerse me in their depraved version of a baptism. Save me from the expression that is not expression but a constant regurgitation of human life. Save me from the collapse of language, but don't use words--use anger, use action, use inaction, use despair and then decorate our tombs with symbols. Decorate them with symbols that have no point of reference, symbols made from nothing the way that language is.

So sorry the letter didn't get to you before your pride disintegrated.

I'm sorry I set you on fire along with your neighbor and all the dead poets you never thanked when you were alive. Perhaps you are thanking them now in heaven's recovery room as they come to visit with you and leave flowers, guns and assonance. Perhaps the sword is not as useless as they led you to believe. Perhaps they had a change of mind once dead and devoid of dialogue or did the dialogue ensue? Did it continue to eat at them like a cancer? Is it devouring you? Are you devoured? Are you exhausted?