| Now I am versed in silence
|
| My throat hurts, not from yelling but from holding back
|
| I won’t say E, A, I, O or U
|
| Taking on brown on and off the aisle
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| Genuflecting with the middle brow
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| Soon to be mouthing Q
|
| Block my eye, off the vine
|
| Relief from a moth-eaten mood
|
| Tap my spine, that grapevine’s been creeping all over my hue
|
| Gone to the eaves — to the world (the whole weave)
|
| Clouds of vampire bat wool leave me deaf to your rosaries
|
| Block my eye, off the vine
|
| Relief from a moth-eaten mood
|
| Tap my spine, that grapevine’s been creeping all over my hue
|
| Down a peg, downward fire
|
| How down can dim get?
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| Stranded in a mutant pattern, likened to all heck
|
| Tapped out of all desire, turning to regret
|
| Relate or relax
|
| Block my eye, off the vine
|
| Relief from a moth-eaten mood
|
| Tap my spine, that grapevine’s been creeping all over my hue |