my knowledge of silence

derives from desire

that is stuck inside me like a bubble

that can’t be swallowed or thrown up


my voice is a rustling sound that is woven

out of objects and deeds and self-assessment

that are in my house


my knowledge of poetry

derives from being choked and blocked


like a sealed mouth with a slit

that connects and separates the lips

like a tongue loving and asking

to kiss to give birth and to utter


the languages of desire

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