Neither
this nor any mysterys gnawed
The mystics "the tight-lipped"
Tongues quiver locked up
3
Art
is a dead gods tongue
whose words
we still
like the sound of
"the music of the spheres"
nights white noise
the whole
spectrum
of electromagnetic
radiation
visible and audible
only to
the radio-telescopes
timpani
tipped to listen
idle humming
"I-am-I"s sound poem
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