And all:
the same paste that the worms of entropy
amalgamate into a single compound.
But to stay, for what and where to,
if there is no remedy, syrup or elixir,
if the foot does not find ground to step on,
even in the do-it-all English footwear
of Dr. Martens,
(the feeling of having your foot stuck in jackfruit)
if traveling is the only way of being happy
and full?
Writing is to avenge loss.
Although the material has all melted,
like melted cheese.
Writing is to avenge?
Of loss?
Loss?
Notwithstanding? In good standing.