Primordia Study

        with end words by Jean Valentine

Concerning vibrations & pitch a stone is never silent.
Consider the walls they spackled around me, singing as
all stones do. It is not easy being your

anchoress but someone must listen. The body
is a window upon which the world presses little
showings. Translucent flowers drying in a book

demonstrate mind as archival, insatiable, leaden. On
my life I swear I heard the brittle orchid sighing, which
hardly suits her former fuschia. I

am green, aurally speaking, but in
the midden of my body I speculate bluely. Sometimes my
room is quiet, but never vacuous. I’ve a hunger

of ear and eye. They will come true for you. The things I wrote.