In the Long Stillness of Quiet Days | James D. Autio

Slithered into my beard are folded
and gave great beams of darkness

ravished by distortion tubes and do
song and gave of such puncture turn

that does waft through such narrow
passage as do look and are draught

of living hand are webbed between
the margins stretching who pitched

and trembled for the long stillness
of quiet days that both of us thought

welded like a reader voice soothes
in autumn felt echoes of a first life.
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