• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 11
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In every vibrating sound

In every vibrating sound There is
heart. I am playing for you,

heart. When you rise to my
              throat and find anguish to hear

                             in red, ruddy flesh

you’ll find the world is a pungent litany of distortions
              of ghoulish vectors. Melting

              superiorities. I like confusion when I’m not
                             confused. An old man told of the pendulum

                                                          swing away from the cleaner air.

How in dirty cultures we’re all poorer
              & corruption is made of many clouds,

clouds high where we can’t touch.

How can you call
that air to breathe?