It is the voice, or sound
as far as limits and ripples can----
as loud as the noise altogether
static, each wrinkle folds under
the aging and erosion,
older than dirt lays claim,
lighter than air, dust-skin,
settled palimpsest
on rice paper arms,
by shreds of rags and stitches
to cover the cold.
Shivers scream inside,
turbidity of the spirit, malicious matters
needing shelter; brittle now
by leaves, dry twigs,
words, thorns, starlight and smoke
becalmed back to the senses
in a murmur of metaphor,
rewritten as revelation.
Must Have.
Must Heard.
as far as limits and ripples can----
as loud as the noise altogether
static, each wrinkle folds under
the aging and erosion,
older than dirt lays claim,
lighter than air, dust-skin,
settled palimpsest
on rice paper arms,
by shreds of rags and stitches
to cover the cold.
Shivers scream inside,
turbidity of the spirit, malicious matters
needing shelter; brittle now
by leaves, dry twigs,
words, thorns, starlight and smoke
becalmed back to the senses
in a murmur of metaphor,
rewritten as revelation.
Must Have.
Must Heard.
Image credit By Scan by NYPL [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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