How many voices
did they silence
when through
voice alone,
they heal?
How they sang
through ancient wisdom
what time
would count
to kill?
When conspiracies
of silence
were the loudest
in the room
and the light
of dawn
stood just outside
like life beyond
the tomb?
How many voices
did they wrangle
from the spiraled
neck of sound
when it hung
between shoulders
and the head
was tilted
down?
What became
of all the music
that would
breathe through
steel and glass
that would glide
over the surface
like rides of
souped-up past?
And the sounds
that slowly penetrate
the pinkened flesh
within
like a
clever thought
that touches off
where muscles form
a grin.
And the grin
that crawled
into a smile
to stand
on teeth
again.
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