***MAKE A NOISE***
Make a noise, make a noise, make a quiet, quiet noise.
The arrow leers in his smile to the left and to the right.
Paint it on a parchment. Chew a nut.
Let the juices be your ink, and saliva your correction.
Oh, what be your poison, I run towards the
blackwhite with the sword slapping at my thigh
and the quill in my quiver. Fire, fire,
fire the bow, swing the sun at the leering smile,
and laugh. Good, good. What is your word,
tongue on a branch and knee in the grass.
You speak the truth but want the absurd.
Flailing in the hot sun and singing to the nightingales,
the sparrow would be jealous at my exertions.
Make a sound, make a song, make a tapping blowing click.
Target board, bloodied sword. Bloodied with the
veins of a hundred dying poets. I mourn, but blink/sink
and grasp the sword and make an incoherent mumble.
Softer, touch the grass and break the branch,
and overturn the nest of the little brown sparrow.
In the light of a reflective moon, sing
and mumble to the nightingales, the larks
will not follow.
Ah, then this is your poison.
Hell will not hold it, the earth will not move it.
Go and find the vibrations in the air made by human hands.
There, from which the shouts emit, it stems.
Hemlock of your want.
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