Standing on my Hands

if i read you my poem silently will you hear all the dumb dumb in between the spaces where the divine touchés amusing you, telling you to share what you saw in the dark believe me there is always more and those aficionados who believe blindly that their words belong to them only how blessed we are to be almost remote and to spin our wheels within and without each other and yet we pay each other a debt as we turn over Spring seeds of poetry hand to hand i’ll digress while standing on my hands my fingerprints in beach sand, in primordial goop, on the moon and sun, on everyone if you read me your poem silently i’ll hear all the dumb dumb