Saturday, May 21, 2016

Wounded Babylon

Wounded Babylon

I love your confusion
the scrambled birds of your tongue
your simultaneous words
your Babel    your Delphi
Sibyl of enemy voice

I love it when you say night and it is dawn
when you say I am and it is the wind

I love your wounded Babylon
the misunderstanding that forces you
to make up a fable

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