Thing III
   

. . . They have gone south, I know, across the mountains to other, farther countries, not measured but spaced equally along the perimeter of the hearing, out across the face and the deeps all cracked and split by thirst, flat and puckering slowly in eternal stillness, beneath the wind and above the earth, so felt by song but unheard by men, now broken and naked to the eyes of men, defiled, and recorded.




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©2006 Hannibal Taubes
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