Tim:	This original poem was mostly opaque to me.
Bob:	(shrugging) That is hardly surprising. We lived mostly in different times and headscapes.
Tim:	I fear I've changed the original meaning.
Bob:	(silence) That what happens when you change the words. However, perhaps an infinite number of words are possible. What's necessary is to move beyond all words.
Tim:	I agree. In a sense, playing with words is mere a child's words. There are realities far beyond words.

Climax

The only art is living:
its timeless struggle
providing a wide extant
of brief climatic satiation.

Running gauntlets of
rhythmic monotony
or discordantly
clashing innovations,
life prods on.

This cacophony
clashes with platitudes.

Ahh, the disfigurement
of existence!