each_blather Doar and the rememberings, I can't feel what I've said, It spills from me, not in release, but in the slow hurt I happen across every night. This "me" entity, this self centered mask, as I tap in repitition, frustration at the tapping, the searching for lost vowels, considerations, the lost everything. The lost work I bring to my own forgetfullness. I hear the hunger throughout my life, it speaks with my own tongue, I feel it with the wit left to me. and all i'm left with is the movement of a click. . 080114 what's it to you? who go blather from