It’s the worm inside the jumping bean that makes it race.
JOHN ASHBERY
You’ve always claimed you are inarticulate, and
you’ve run away from discourse:
you blamed it on a common aversion to needless
clarification.
I’ve kept a friendly silence, a speck of truth
with a bubble of pus,
while Tomorrow jumped ahead of us wiping the slate
clean, teasing, covering its tracks:
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