The coolness of the atom, the trouble of a spark,
The endless speeches foaming free from lightness
The bold, the insignificant, the starving, lonely hordes,
The striking up of conversations,
The putting up of boards. The lassitude
Of silence, the frightfulness of thought.
The more we use our violence,
The less the thing we sought. The freshness of a budding
The cranky man in damps, the tepid ticking of the hour,
The licking of the stamps.
The fall of love, the death of words,
The cause of things to come,
In truth I’d rather soar like birds,
And let all my words be dumb.