Vocal Epidemic

The clouds are descending as

I shamefully ask why

The doom settles

On the edge of the tongue,

On a piece of lint on the tip

Of a rolling ballpoint.

The sun ignites

Within the sword’s edge

Double edged, folded a thousand times

Reflecting veritable proof

Of shadow cutting through

Amber lit dusk,

Courier of the lethal curse

Jabbing, stabbing,

While the star shines

In the spark

Of a flint

Winking at the watchful eye

That slays and cuts through the night

Exposing the attempt to strangle

And choke

With verbal redundancy,

As purity of reason 

Gleams and beams

Upon  triangulation.