I went searching for a truly syllogistic symbol,
one which would unearth meaning beyond being merely palpable,
of such sublime syllabic persuasion; it would be a superaltern to
common sound.
Thus it is, I have long crept through the encrypted under ground!
Yet, once, I lived as a modern, and I investigated as others uptown,
but envisioning no future there in the now, I scurried feral-like for what's under and down.
I courted cataclysm amid catacombs,
whisker brushing catalouges of ancient bones,
clambering amid cubicles of calcified saints
which `castanetted' against walls smeared in mythic paints.
Restive sediments filtered into discordant runes,
`cymboling' stratum of distressed, wholly forgotten tunes.
Paring away this preserve of portentous play,
my script plotted to curcifix from lump of clay.
And, the grave and gravel of antiquity
goaded each other into inane history;
where no spark emerged of a grander scheme;
than: from lust unto dirt must go we,
and, if there is A PLAN...then, Dust is its only theme.

MX