The Grass is Black/The Air is Pink

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feel me/read me/follow me

The Throat by Kate Tiernes

The throat
heart of language,
sealed by losses:
a forgotten verse,
a never-ended lyric,
a censored sentence…

The evaporation of
word
sound
breath
leaves images
naked
hungry
beating.

The tongue,
a wild animal,
stops to love its cage,
a moist tunnel
of whirlpools
and whirlwinds.

But the longing is unbearable…
a yawn
a cough
a sigh
pulls back the velvet curtains
and the animal courageously leaps
into the dead air
through hoops of fire
until the deafening applause becomes
soft
cool
silent,
a kiss.

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

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