Rejections (I)

It whitens in the noise of a stroke
Like the latest nights I lost
Thrown into the forgotten thought
That’s still afar from being gone
And ink’s still loaded
And countless rhetorical figures
Adamantly bow down
Before the inefficiency of the understandable
And we got absolved without defense
At the hour of English customs,
Sweaty, parturient souls
Like dying, defenseless animals.