Motto Motto Motto Motto
Is that his dark sound or ours?
Some other one spoke with his notorious wind tongue—
I’m a spy in the hairy garden—Then a speaking
creeper came to me one night and said spy
on the spy with eyes and mouth shut
in order to better see—I steal
the secret of empire from the green aggressors,
from the leaves outnumbering words I suck impressive
zeal—One night I heard the front
and back of a song—And flowers’
limber tricks have not escaped me—For
I have a brightness barracked
behind the lungs, this soul, for
I have heard—Bite
hear the apple make the soundcrack of wings breaking

 

Listen: Over there talk peaks and jitters like a fire Look:

 

Walk with your black flag flying, with your white flag,
with your white flag and carrying charmed eyetooth pocket hair-
lock molar thumb and your soul, luciferous box, with clusters
of apocalypse riding inside walk, pilgrims, listen,
the infant spoke saying, Tra La, and walking
on the fire is only like stepping on noise