There are no— there are no— there are no words tonight. Only the sound of almost speaking. Everything inside me has gone heavy. Heavy in the blood. Heavy behind the eyes. Every moment. Every night now. Everything I feel inside me rots like flowers on a grave. Softly. Without resistance. As though decay were something tender. What tender notion does not turn? What tender thought does not darken when held too long? What a tender notion. What a tender thought. What a strange thing to have believed. In the silence we shall wonder. In the silence we shall call it wonder. The night holds nothing more. The night can give us nothing more. Still— we listen. Still— we wait. There are no— there are no— there are no words tonight. Only their weight. Only the place where they should have been. The night holds nothing more. The night holds nothing more. Nothing more.
