The war of art

[ineffabelle]

drawing room
cutting floor
you might get the point
right through the I
and though you might evade
your shield is torn
counter top
my blade cuts low
think its over, but I work slow
distributed reversals
getting you to cross, over
it's all happened already
but you're just getting the picture
painted in, and liminating
writing out the things that don't fit
I draw them back in
like a breath, waiting to expire
I'm not here to help you
but I hear you, helping
none the less,
you spoke too soon.
God has always been dying,
and always will be,
worlds without end.
The universe is the death rattle of the universe.