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Like the stitching of muscle

Desire burns strong to speak

To lay root in the empty plea of silence


Yet in speaking

In outstretching the bounds of a mute spirit

I speak nothing but my fear of silence


Despite my compulsion

I long for the blade tender and ripe

To sever softly my nervous reflection


I want nothing but return

To the lone naked nothing 

Where impulse was born but to gift itself


I want nothing but return

To the voice that lay no roots

Spreading everywhere its seeds of silence

Desire Burns Strong to Speak

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