Quick get the rescue groups

for the dead & dying, pull them from their artificially forgotten

and the hamster wheels they trudged like paths

that were supposed to lead somewhere.

Snip the strings, black like typewriter ink, that sewed lyric back to heart, living to extinction,

to silence,

their blood spilling

empty pages.

The blanks & pauses left to dust, paper left to yellow, but still

They are singing

still they are drumming - 

sharp rap of thymine’s T, guanine’s G a muffled impact 

- nucleotide lyrics in our blood.