The Flavour of Words to Come by Paul Point

I taste the sound of skin growing numb

I taste the flavour of words to come

two ears tasting hostile noise, pricked, poised to the prospect of a slick, glossed, pixel thick aesthetic

..

I taste the light and the shadows

I taste the flavour of words in echoes

hidden and hunched with canopied cobwebs in black alleys of misshapen and hushed conversations

..

I taste the work and the slumber

I taste the flavour of words in hunger

feasting themselves full on two hard, stale slices of daily bread sandwiching grey, inedible filling

..

I taste the rain and the sleet

I taste the flavour of words in defeat

bowing and leaping brave, new standards of intolerance shamelessly masquerading as progress

..

Money is power and

power has the strongest lead

..

I confess, I often fall wrong

beyond trusting my senses

..

In truth, all I can say is this

..

I taste the sound of lead riddled loss

I taste the flavour of words that cost

men their wits, their peace and their lives fighting in the name of those they do not call ‘brother’

..

I taste the terror and the fear

I taste the flavour of words in the sneer

gift wrapped in a smile for bending arms, twisting fingers into wet signatures onto dry paper

..

I taste the sound and the strife

I taste the flavour of words in the knife

gutting the stomach and slicing the column of the spine wide open with every hollow promise

..

I taste the moment and the rancid past

I taste the flavour of words that cannot last

derelict ideals and desolate ivy towers; relics casting shadows in full view of open glaring eyes

..

Knowledge is history and

history is rich with answers

..

I confess, I often fall wrong

beyond trusting my senses

..

In truth, all I know is this

..

I taste the sound of skin growing numb

I taste the flavour of words to come

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