Zywa Say Aah

The echoes are a disease
a curse or both, more and more
people cannot speak

they only repeat
half the foresayers
who just shout something

about robots, hearing themselves
back, rebounded
until the ball goes out

and nobody knows
what he wants, whether he wants
what he wants or what he says

Where is it going
everyone in polonaise
to a crippled hornpipe?

Poem 2735
Amsterdam, 2020-03-01

Nymph Echo
Hornpipe, a sailors' dance, accompanied by a horn with tone holes

Collection: On living on [2] 
Keyword: Together: society 
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