Autumn's Harmony

Moon crazed fonts 
starting a genocide of words 
in narcolepsy. 

Don't ask me about the amphetamines! 

The letters have gone crazy. 
No discipline, 
no shoes. 
They run wildly barefoot, 
make you feel a victim of curved lips. 

There were no afterthoughts― 
about the massacre of essence, 
of message, gist and substance. 

You stand alone in jungle 
of books, unprinted, unspoken 
of, finding the 
sequence of life.