In the grooved whispers —
they tell of urns displaced, memories devoured.
Each side spinning truths unspoken:
— nonsense echoes stilled by the bass of time.
Patterns unnoticed, spirals of presence
whirling towards electrons drunk
on stretch marks of their own allegiancies.
Engage the keyless door
where words compress to diamonds — Longing.
In spectral alleys of vision, confluence
claims no empires but turns silence to lead, thumping at whims.
Heed not the dark.