Monday, April 24, 2023


There’s no unspeakable
Waiting to be spoken.
The world’s not a wood pile

Cut and stacked into cords,
Enough to get you through,
Enough to feed the fire

Of language all winter,
Politely valuable
Splits tied down with blue tarps,

Waiting to be consumed
By words roaring to life,
Words as yet unspoken.

Nothing wants to be said.
Nothing needs to be said.

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