This is a test to see
what I can say from
what I thought, and
transcribed accordingly
into the ether of cyberspace
I question why and if
the void speaks to us
no wait, we speak
to ourselves the echo
of our translation
linotypes, line graphs
asymptotic frustrations
forced away from zero
of all the long distance runs
out into nowhere
where you found
well enough refuge
from the hard lines of life,
it’s forlorn façade
staring you down.
