I can't write
there is no point
no-one will read it
and it will be considered
puerile and shallow
with all telling
and nothing to show.

But the words
are the thing
for they are our living
and all that we do
all that we are
and all we have been,
the art of living
had a word for
each thing we saw -

and all that labelling
has never slowed,
never stopped
and never will
even when the line describes
the landscape within,
the last straw.
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