Lucie Brock-Boido - Freedom of Speech

If my own voice falters, tell them hubris was my way of adoring you.

The hollow of the hulk of you, so feverish in life, cut open,

Reveals ten thousand rags of music in your thoracic cavity.

The hands are received bagged and examination reveals no injury.

Winter then, the body is cold to the touch, unplunderable,

Kept in its drawer of old-world harrowing.

Teeth in fair repair. Will you be buried where; nowhere.

Your mouth a globe of gauze and glossolalia.

And opening, most delft of blue,...