Packed and muted, my burlap sack
filled with emptiness.
There, a smattering of blood like raindrops on the wall.
It’s the shower of sound bytes from today;
the bastards won’t stop howling.
I try to clean them up and scoop them away.
Impossible for the intangible; which cannot be held.
And so they flutter off.
Another day another song in the hymnal of