When Feignlitch formed and worth was surrendered
Little birds with their songs tweeted out
broke from the silence a continuous
chatter raked minute apostrophes wrought
where world under the nearness of a poem
Zephyr encounters no entropy
instead it is all the time aftermath
going and spending of laid wast hours
no oh to surprise or see as sacred
but in the nest of the waking birdsong
roosting the key to the answer at once
Whatever makes sense because it doesn't
takes waste from its bitterest waste and want
as though not a measure of anything
in the moment from tomorrow that's now
the flower that bloomed bright in the future
to lose a language is to lose a tongue
being or not without happiness how
far went oucasted and was blown to dust
as love without law without love doest
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