Body language should
insinuate –
unlock the gate – invite its
volumes
and intentions ordinately to
inhabit
what is granted in its
gift of space –
permits it to pursue its covert
aims –
become inordinately drawn
to games
of nuance, whim,
suggestion: wavering
between the dream of fact,
and fact,
with all the shy ungainly grace
of something that’s not
been here long.
Let every limb sing its
inimitable hymn:
collectively lift up a
song to all
that stirred and stirs,
will stir itself
to promulgate this grand
infinity
of word and flesh and
death and birth:
then itemize exactly what it’s
worth.
How to effect all that?
Easy. Watch a cat.
.
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