Saturday, June 13, 2020

Insipid and Dicta-Like

Our language was a secret
Impossible to translate.
We had no words or gestures.

Our poems couldn’t be pronounced,
Read, or silently performed.
They had no odor at all.

They were pure philosophy
With the purity removed,
Insipid and dicta-Like.

You have felt them in your bones.
You have known this when you fell.
That’s how we talk where I’m from.

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