I want to talk about the unspoken lines,
the pages ripped out of the book even before showing
the first draft to the first few initiates outside
the brain that conceived the perceptions noted
and burnt
but reconstructing the ashes would mean creating ink that stains
fingers and all the following pages
so there is silence
and white-out tape wound around a barbed tongue
securing all the omissions to prolonged oblivion
until one day it might dissolve
and words will scratch the itching blankness
leaving supposedly haphazard marks on paper
a palimpsest, in hindsight