burning a hole in my head
flame into words not said
glancie all around
frown at aa faint dismal distant sound
like a muffled bell
on the road to hell
the past lasts
in accents unused
in dead languages
of the dead sea
in the broken books
and the broken heads
in all the things we left unsaid
fleeing from ourselves
escaping goblins, fairies, elves
landing in the land
of unknown unknowns
where we are all alone
but très jolie
when we decide just to be.