the saying was exchanging positions,
over and over, with the said.
It was a summons, a shock into
a long and languid responsiveness.
You put the bit in your mouth
so as to listen for the ruined voice
of the least noticeable listener,
for when the inaudible bulges
encouragingly into the audible world.
In a way, your earliest name
was malleable but meaningless,
a biographical bundle never failing
to not arrive. So you had to improvise
a fully realized vestige, some
muffled and bloodshot cues
to be brought on trial. Bound to the sound
of moving water, you had to
straighten your mind into a frayed
and damaged equipoise, to gulp the murmur
of rising distress within the audience.
The hour was valiant; it was
meant to convey, as you
slowly departed, the briefest silver.
A back door opened.
You put your hand on your forehead
and jerked out the needle of light.
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