There are snakes in my mouth
pouring out when I intend to speak.
Wriggling, they kindly speak for me;
but the languages are foreign to the ears.
Like streams flooding fanciful dreams
the sounds snake into poetry. Serpentine,
the words seem to sing: hissing, heesing, hesings.
--
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※ 編輯: powlluimniz 來自: 61.64.195.83 (11/11 07:53)