I have cut out my tongue

and present it on this white plate

See how the tip moves upward

searching for housing

Its nerves tattered, disconnecting

like bodies hung in cells

forming a bloody soup which spreads

delicately against the white

Something green would set it off

a vine to tie up the leaking sack

Still living, its thickness gathers in the middle

unwilling either to go back into nothing

or forward to a neat end

Cold, it shrivels into bumps of buds

its knowledge like apples and atoms

no longer believed

Without taste, offering

to you my silence


Elizabeth Lhuede


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Silencing by Elizabeth Lhuede is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial 2.5 Australia License.