The word is dead, has to be written Poem by Gerrit Kouwenaar
The word is dead, has to be written
The word is dead, has to be written
it's penning itself clear, of perjory
doesn't matter if the page is grey or empty
if the letter's looking for a lie or an address, whatever,
the wings of the ant want to flee its shoulders, ink is
grieving for a language whose lips are sealed
one is amazed at one's breath, spells the disappearing
of the morning stars into their own name, crystal clear -
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3/12/2026 8:31:06 PM # 1.0.0
