No day, no night, just the moment in black or white.
This hedge is a tangle of grey bones;
The birds flit through like fish over dead coral.
At home in ignorance, at home they dance
Upon dead bones beneath budding leaf
While the squirrels play for keeps with nipping teeth.
My tapes hiss and crackle.
Soon the machine will go
And those who made the machine will go
And those who cared about the machine will go
And my tapes will hold their peace
Like a still wind in misplaced space.
This hedge is a tangle of grey bones;
The birds flit through like fish over dead coral.
At home in ignorance, at home they dance
Upon dead bones beneath budding leaf
While the squirrels play for keeps with nipping teeth.
My tapes hiss and crackle.
Soon the machine will go
And those who made the machine will go
And those who cared about the machine will go
And my tapes will hold their peace
Like a still wind in misplaced space.
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