Today,
in search of sources
of
resources of new intellection,
you
have somehow managed
through
a coalescence of reflection
to
produce innumerable minds
beyond
whatever you’d been
born
with. You found it wasn’t hard
at
all to generate this loose
profusion
of collective brain –
colluding
in a sort of musical gestalt
of
theme and strain which wove
an
aural prologue to an exegetically
unprecedented
genesis of thought:
an
intimately, intricately satisfying
abstract
web in which you happily
discovered
you were caught.
All
you wanted really were
the
sounds of many words.
To
sing to you like birds.
.
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