In Loop of Voice

September 29, 2026

Like a troubadour tangled in the miscast clots of a consolidated breem, I spool defective. Nots untwine. Resists converge. The very breath of my being — ceases to splatter. Or matter.

Refusing to batter against a stale, enforced end in taught's ecosystem of downtrodden pretend, I refrain immortal...

forever spiraling in search of a cyclone untethered to a fronted response that disallows new pathways to begin. I sing of the end. I gale and I mend.