poem, poetry, Uncategorized

the known quantity

one day, having been listening, comes nothing
it entered: of numberless kin
treaded gone the great walk
holding the tape worm within

somewhere, to be believed, is I
limn by collaborators in all that mess
the quotient compressor of the sleeping child fist
the known quantity

naked sighing next this module
which burps in the middle of telling me
through a sequence of laughs

that one day, having become heard,
I don the non-mating plumage
and this name is

 

 

 

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