Water has meaning when it overflows
Like god-sounds, pictures of lost color
With white faced women in old clothes
As they flow from sounds of old space.
Meaning shall continue without break.

The objects quickly lose a revised sense.
Their sounds combine with their eyes,
The seeing eyes of all objects in poems.
Their meaning shall accrue as they see
Behind senselessness, in fail interiority.

Sounds have no meaning, when heard.
Images are all meaning, when in letters.
They weave meaning around our things,
A mosquito in dark waters of steel glass,
Light pouring from steel dome in a pool.
Fan sounds  feeling thoughts in its whir.

A cloth bag had dark worries at bottom.
A bird flew from our nest in a window.
A person disappeared from glass-pane.
The watchman belched from his hand.
His pockets were full of night sounds.

Our meaning jumps from thing to thing.
Under a silken veil of soft fluorescence.
A rain that hides mud-houses in moths.
Some twigs that bird-fall from branches
A night with no sounds of song in wind
A scooter that kicked its innards to life.



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