Venona

Men are waiting patiently; Remove me from the scene, A sea of faceless souls in suits. A sight for eyes, like thumbs; Sore crooked and bow and foul relief. You have, you have been exposed. Your eyes speak well of you. They play the requiem to To a closed casket burial. Your conspiracy: Conspiring to deliver me to the authorities. I've been betrayed so graciously. My bloodhounds hooked to a trail of ink which led me to the words you scribbled down, obituary dedicated to me. Your fingers are star-crossed lovers that Can't seem to get enough of each other. This pantomime dialect doesn't Practice what you preach. I might as well be blind With isolated eyes like mine.