Live Steam at 8:45


In this poem there are no words
all language has stopped
but the pumps boil
live steam
live steam
live steam from the inside

Hearts poach/we rip at skin
alone and without noise
to get at the beat
the color
and where the words are
but this is a poem where there are no words
and all the colors are extinct
rising like steam
that hisses in our throats
like wordless lies

In this poem the words sizzle
and evaporate

In this poem the words rise crazy

In this poem our bodies ache
our fingers can murder us
but even though we fear death
we offer ourselves to each other
as if the muscle and breath
of our bodies can also heal

This poem cradles in its palm
those things that cannot be said

It asks that you touch this page.

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