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