for june’s norwegian tongues

two tongues, and
one flown to a common head.
it’s obvious as a statue
of an old man in a park

then there sits the reject mouth
which cannot cry. is dumb, but not blind.
a small savant in catacomb,
that holds and drools, is temperamental to touch

don’t use the word father
to make it talk,
learn the difference between sap
from the saw cut and the drip
of a creature
submitting to need you.

the gums are the softened doorways,
and both are one, and right between,
the intuition bellow,
trust, for time won’t hurt
the sacred things

see all around you,
obelisk, pillar, peak,
but it is the well we reflect on to know
we are anything at all.

but it is the cave which holds scrawls,
and the mist which feeds its own meadow.

the reject mouth a cunning swallow that
thrives in the skull,
find one, you’ll find us all, june.


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