Words shake off
The human needs
And the voice
Is laid bare

You will not see the man
Sitting on the grass
As he writes
Or the barren field

The words alone
Are left
And the voice is laid bare

The words are paper flames
The blood is ink

There is enough technology
To make his paper
But not enough
To help feed a hungry man

And another mind
Gives life to print
And the voice is laid bare

The writer has died
His words are kept alive
Perhaps by memory
Or by an archive

For the voice laid bare
Physical considerations
Are none
For voice laid bare

Cut out of mind
Cut out of the feeling heart

God’s words
Have god’s spirit
To put life there

A man’s words
Must be passed on
Like movements at the fair

And spread out
On its cover
And opened
To the bare voice
And assembled
As if fresh
And with the illusion
Of yesterday