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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.