this act is an act of listening,
not of saying. Articulation
in the sense that I am a headless disjointed creature;
shifting around and moving an elbow here and there
hearing it shiver and re-joint.
Observe
creation flows hot and salty like sea-lava.

I can hear my soul;
and it’s not boring
and it’s not short.
My hair grows longer in these moments.
Flowing, like Ariel, and
I fear the muteness.
I fear what the legs might bring.


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