Monday, March 28, 2016



Babel is blind. He has no eyes
so he touches, rubs
his fingers over the words
of men that in the terror
of their silence know there's a secret.

Babel’s pleasure is fast and hard,
it comes from far away
and rumbles inside my heart
with the noisy jolt
of a sleepwalking volcano.

It drags an ancient mud.
There are broken bird feathers
in its pubic hair.

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