7405. BEGINNING FROM DUST

BEGINNING FROM DUST

I have no way of speaking except in silence.

Lambeth Manor or Lexington froth, all those

words come down from the revolutions of

another era : the American, the French, and

the mind of William Blake himself. Pencil scribbles

overlap the edges, and all those odd lines do make

a word, or two. New people come and color the

edges  -  and every new day has its own new

declension. Like the cut worm, forgiving the

plow, I grin back at all eternity, laughing aloud.

I am nothing now, but have come from less.

I am this big storm now, but began from dust.