Ny words are the digital wind weaving their way past porn, banks, schools, and blogs and countless other sites alighting only for a moment as someone for some reason chooses to read them then they are off again floating in the digital data stream waiting to be summoned and used or waiting for that ultimate second of destruction when the death of my words will happen in lightning, a bad drive, or a cosmic burst of radiant energy tearing through terabytes of data like the proverbial hot knife thus ending my words like Col. Mustard in the library with the lead pipe