Hand-fed triumph, spoils.   Battles which you cant recall fighting in.   This fancies your fit.   You've settled down for a long winter's nap;   Simply grown tired of cheap thrills, but it's been years upon years of craving simplicities.   Oh, the knavery / depravity!   Sentences become paragraphs become novels on cold fronts, warm backs.   And this town needs an enema.   I'll pass the time with a rhythm and a rhyme.   That rhyme needs a good once over, but I'm no joker.   I've seen people explode.   Pieces!   You can't kill what's already dead.   Subconscious white noise mauls prose.   Odd, superflous sounds.   This is a physical challenge, well-beyond a double dare.   Commit to a legacy.   On with all the fireworks and the parades.   God-willing a momentum of silence.   Silence!   It's what we'll all eventually have in common