Here you will find the Poem After Silence of poet John Perreault
After science, we have perfumes of various sorts. And then the month, I don't know why, Nor do I know the colors, without warning, without warts, of the expanding. It is as if I am invisible; it is as if I am dead. The air passes through me, moving through my head, as I stroll down halls. Look at my hands: they are animal hands and yet they are glass. And my bare feet are attached to my legs. My brain is in codes. You are triple, You are glass. What you buy is who you are. And yet the allegory continues. Even without credit. Even without cash. There is no air. There is no death. There is no sex. There is no class. As to that, find what could be only not what was dream in this wide world outside the scheme and then some handsome partners in crime will pass the time from hand to hand. A tall and handy and then some favoring weeks might be my by and by between the cheeks. Blessed are the damned by cruel society. Society is species. You, you could count the years and count the hills. You could count the armpits. Blessed are the mothers who eat their children and the fathers who, in a time of reward, will have no sons. It was better if not cleaner on the beach- early morning, when you were the only dog. the only car. And you, you thought you were glass. Blessed are the children who have no language: language is government. Either I am big or I am huge. I have no love or glory; I have no fear -until all three descend on me and once again I reappear.