Edge and Fold, sections 15–49 (audio only)
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They are crying out in restaurants, so delighted to be speaking, they appear to be insane. But we are the silent types, who hold speech within like the rustle of gold foil. We eat our words and swallow hard. There’s nothing much to say. The knot’s in its nest, breathing. A hand thinks it’s a bird. The world “nows”; it doesn’t know. The world “wows.” Then it snows. A word arrives, silent and upright. It stands in profile against a white wall. It’s here for safekeeping only. Keep quiet, mice. A cat’s patrolling the area, with drones and more drones. The keys we carry unlock us eve
Click the icon above to listen to this audio poem.
Click the icon above to listen to this audio poem.