THE Message

There is just one message
and everything else is
the messenger’s twang.

Things in their disconnection
and pandemonium
are still consonant
and belong.

The message is lost
in indefinite folds of spurious conversions,
in the
endless mazes of tongues,
that repeat falsehood,
yet dragging its truth along.

Along
in every swell chested
inclination of long,
in every branches,
unfolding the elongation
of a
never-ending song.