Lingua Franca

frivolous with immensity, let your
fingertips slip over the
very contours
of
inception, grazing as they did its pleats, ripples, the

slick
contracted expanse of its muscles, laminated
in

dark oils. loom and
dissolve; heave and succumb. for there, furtive, epi-

phenomenal, you'd only transit -- vaporous -- through all
those flexed
de-
terminants. does the mirror know what the
mirrored doesn't? wouldn't the

resonance enter, root
resplendent, there where the voice,
manifestly,
couldn't? thus drawn, solicited, even the air's
for

inclusion. so, too -- you'd noted -- each
dis-
tended member, its least
emitted murmur, but

only wrapped, enclosed in the whirring viscera of its own
un-
wording. for only then, in its very
ex-

tinguishing,
spoke.



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