Poem 1983 (1)



Look down upon
this uncleaned verse
from nightlong birth
its call through racked lungs
where dawn refused to spark
hence signs which will not burn
and things I wanted said
or breath wished kindled
still unlit
in musty sumps
while codes fade past
that noise lost
by an unknown throat
like mine
my non-speech speaking
without quite reaching
a mouth
where cells dream about fresh air.

Hear me in a voice I would disown
after it had sung
if only I could sing
yet thoughts push again
in madness to be born
as a poem never formed.
Is there radiance enough
to rinse such lines?
Try breaking them open
find, perhaps,
little hearts are beating
parasitic sentences heaving
amid a fungus of ruptured text
sounding some abort-song
speak then
unwashed words
if you can.
You weren’t made for daylight.


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