what can be said? what can one say? words do not do. this is word less. and still, knowing full well no ear will hear, no tongue will caress, no throat will vibrate, i insist on lancing these words out to you, you who have been ferried to the other side, over the abyss, across the river one is forbidden to forge. the living are not to enter. the dead are not to escape. the river between, called the river of woe (acheron) or the river of hate (styx.) two different names, same destination. and always in the background the refrain plays, “that’s how it goes – everybody knows.” this bitter resignation on the tip of the tongue. bitter where such sweetness used to reside.