The worst could be held
at guantanamo bay.
Those things that would cause
us to shudder, at the mention
of the heinous things they’d say.
Forgotten disdain,
forged again and again,
turned beyond recognition
into pulpous corpses.
Perfected stories
altered, repeated,
each time spoken;
addled lines, pretenses,
to make the story great.
Devoid of realness
left to strafe.
Cardboard Folder 