Pop music, loud garage poetry, the kind that echoes
Loud and indistinct, from the people down the block
Reminders of your skin, flickering in the chorus
And the academic kind, in case your soul
Now needs to shake itself in a shower of chords
Built of angels and thirds and old, old music
Search your tongue for the read, the relics
Of yesterday and tomorrow and tense
Where the language melts and reforms and sings
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