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Down Deep in the Cavity

i have never been dumbfounded by tremolo singing birds,
the sound so natural against rustic woodland air. baraka

asked how you sound, meaning our vibration ain't quite
right. too much tremble in the tenor that we transport

evolution steeped in hyperbole, a bag of insignificant wind
we deny something human in aesthetics: the human pulse

weakened: each attempt at sound imitates a war, a friction
against that which opposes how we reside in circles, & fail

because we reside in circles. perhaps we need group history,
or perhaps we need a group hug to catch up posthaste

with the past. an unknown future inside a choir box once
we sang of promise, the trauma everlasting i want to lean into

misunderstandings tone-deaf & brain-dead, how we hear
vocal cords' resonant memory. under the ocean's waistline—

Randall Horton

Pitch Dark Anarchy
TriQuarterly Books / Northwestern University Press

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