Speak Nothing Dust

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How great is the desire
To talk and laugh
And say the things I think,
Not just inane banalities
That fall into nothing
Like glass upon the floor,
Breaking into dust
The thoughts I have.
If I could think,
And thinking not need speech,
To tell of how I feel.
Not have thoughts of spider-web fineness
Turned to coarse woven hemp
By my own tongue's clumsiness.
To speak with, not to or at
And to know that speech is thought's tool,
Not the other way about

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