Our symbols are invisible, they hiss
& clunk like tympani, like pipes. A flurry of air
taps patterns in the ear, but that's not this.
I meant to say the flutter, the flatus of f's.
But Fuk, without its foreleg, gallops apace
and wears a smile, no longer a blue-black smudge.
& clunk like tympani, like pipes. A flurry of air
taps patterns in the ear, but that's not this.
I meant to say the flutter, the flatus of f's.
But Fuk, without its foreleg, gallops apace
and wears a smile, no longer a blue-black smudge.
