It is a big o, one after the other
changing intonation, accent, punctuation and length.
I figure everything is almost like an open treasure,
a treasure that treats me as a black box
I square, do you square?
The big o, the box, the Böks:
Snobs who go to Bonn for bonbons know how to shop for good corn or posh cod.
Or the small vocal, brief, contained, sheepish...
the o that almost doesn't leave the mouth,
a river of impossibles
that nevertheless floats underneath the turmoil of things
like a whispering earthquake
or a hidden terror attack
with no victims but the potential cogs
of the blackest of all boxes.
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento