The throat is a hollow flute
and the breath blowing through this hollowness is like water
surging through an iron pipe
driven without mercy into a hemorrhaging spring.

The sound of water singing under pressure
can heal the weary but the water itself is cold,
cold enough to stop a heart.

Come to this well and ask anything of it
but only when there is no answer can you trust
what it says.

After silence all we have are lies,
lies written in braille for the blind to read,
for anyone who has hands to see.


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