Better a modest silence than the indistinct image and tin rhymes
Wait till the wind dances the language the words rattle and spark
a bit of friendly sorcery
The unguided mind and life are a great blinking cow
in the flat distance
a thin laugh in a dingy library
We need something to swear to
I could offer a speech, a curse, a secret but its just cinders falling
in the bleak sunlight
on windows, sidewalks, train tracks
as we pursue the knowledge of our identities we find a frightful answer
we snatch answers the only way we can from press conferences and cool silences we can build a modem replica of the heart but our destination cries out
We can pass on poetry to others


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