The moment is a standing
Wind fading, dropping of voices;
There are words without sounds
Huddled in emptiness, soft putter
Of pattering and some things.
Falling into boundaries we I
Tasting of despair sour-sweet
In frozen muscles thrumming.
Language a personal ad of fnords,
Arms fall useless - gesticulating,
Undulating, tentacles unable to convey;
Meaning a peeling back of fancies -
And then I sit. Again. For the
First time, and movement is
Not moving at all.
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