or TV news. words can be redundant, even in the way. the body has its own tongue but body language doesn’t know words. it doesn’t have the slightest clue
about divine revelation. nerves reside in my legs. today they opened all the windows wide and they’re listening to hank williams yodeling. they keep dancing a little, moaning passionately and stomping with their little feet, which drives me nuts. a poem is a black bird squatting in thick tree shade in the summer singing something to itself. a soul is a rapt horse at a railway station, a hard round stone on the asphalt is a rabbit on the lookout. skin is a manifestation of the soul. green to the touch. standing on the verge of a clearing with its big branched antlers watching, breathing in and smelling damp moss completely straight, almost motionless.