A cave of pocketed char. A word or a tangible body.
Of the several kinds of music, one is sick today and so cold.
Where are you? The colander closet is leaking.
What’s it called? No, I can’t govern while I am here.
And then from underneath a new chance
operation, a bathroom speaking. Talk as you would read, for the silent
cinema had never been silent. Now how
do you feel? Duskily shrewd. Surprisingly convener.
Sound waves from the iceberg were too low to be heard by humans,
but at higher speed was a swarm of bees or a warming
orchestra. It wasn’t you but your finned suit
on the gravel of music. Of course we will pop by
whenever we can stop drowning.