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dug that jazz, a red shift,
saskatchewan nights when nihilism is the easy choice
cage brings his beneficence
and brings out an urge to bow
no one knows why the mushrooms grow
in their arcing paths, notes written without a staff
a web hums naked resonance,
silently, the voice will fill us
the language growing on without us
starlings and whales left to pick up the slack
o teacher, what is that sound, like a violin in the hands
of a marble cutter, one without the deft touch of a barber?