Babble
Say under land
are remembered and muddy
rushes, slows. Next
to nothing migrates
up. Like ladders
of new fungus
ladder limestone rock only
just thinkable
and untooled into,
I moved my feet
then saw prints of no
value. I was born
and did not speak.
Took taking place in
increments. Speech,
in the specks
of sounds I forgot
how to make, machine,
animal, grabbable,
still indexes only desire
in the throat opening.
Notes:
Lines in this poem take up and alter language from Daniel Heller-Roazen’s Echolalias (Zone Books, 2005).
Source:
Poetry
(April 2024)
