Saturday, June 2, 2018


The death of music
Is the birth of words,
What happens when bodies try

The same gestures for ages,
For generations,
After they lose all meaning

And meaning itself is born.
Nothing that would make
A story in those gestures,

In those vocals, in those moves,
And then, there it was.
The distillation of thought,

Hanging in the air between.
Music, dying, had to mean.

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