ease into the noise.
   slip through the crevices of mastication.

holdontothe                                                                                                          words, words, words.

(what remains are the told, set against the untold.)

who are we when we let words do the talking?

like seeing you on every street corner
at the cornermost of word processors

in the stray hairs,
broken fingernails.


Photos  Karlu Tayabas
Text Anon
© The Panagtagbo. Base codes by Fearne. Tweaks by AMC