poems back artist cataloque

Well,has it
Really fluttered?
So long
And so thinly
A hair of crystal is buzzing.
And what's my roungh rest scared by?
Perhaps something different,
The thing I cannot squeeze by my thoughts,
Or these are sounds of silence?
But here is a rush,
A painful squeak of two splinters,
A sob choked by teeth straightaway,
Commotion of wrinkles
In the lips of ironical fiesh -
And quietness again.
No motion of shiver.
And talking again,
No glitter of doubts.
page 14