Aeolius, Blood and Mercury ( Or: How I Learned To Hate Paul Simon)

This word blew away behind the door,
Through a crack in the plaster yet spread
like blood on a marble floor - as plastic
as meaning ever could be. As fluid as mercury.

That one, darted and lodged in the outside wall
where students passed by, muttering new words
about the institution or binary opposites or
other words, all moving in directions of some tongue

or another...

The words inside you all together, just massed
Words were no  longer enough but then,
neither was form. Nothing was enough
No things, no word, no deed was enough.

Maybe blood and mercury ought not to mix
Maybe blood and mercury can coalesce in magic
but not in everyday conversation - maybe.
Colour, divergence, love: all blown away.