A Strict Silence of Immigrants


A Strict Silence of Immigrants

I am new to old cities. New to this land
that’s as subdued as my voice; equally

troubled by a duty to be understood.
I am a gapping colloquialism,

and I am tempted to observe strict
silence until my speech recognises

my voice as complete thought. Truly,
there’s a sweet temper about this place.


Found text remixed from Dickens’s
Martin Chuzzelwit & my 1991 Winter Journal








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