the illness

should it have been a much simpler thing
it would have cost less soul or sun
but it had to be a revolution in sound
a sputter of the tongue
to hoist the change that
comes noiseless
it cannot be without some
remark of structure or time
or place — everyone, these frolics, thriving
for the semblance of words
co-operating for doom
cavorting with words
a malignant sex

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