The only stars this night
Are street lamps. I am here
(perhaps with you) exploring Idea,
Exploring & finding the chord-y chorus
Of Language (it is mounted for
The sole purpose of being disembodied
With no obstacles & no conceptions)
As if all words were lying back-up
In a field, like the death of Robert Walser
Whose familiar Spirit creates
Snow angels in that same gaping spot.
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