Frank Ramsay

What can’t be said, can’t be said, and it can’t be whistled either. It
can’t be whispered. The burden can be muted. No wave and the
barren sequence rise on our account, triple soft but lashed, like in
the first instance, which can be sung. The right to love refusal is
black music. The song about desire always wants to disappear. In
the second instance, she released in public chastity, flirting at the
club and wound. Damaged from repeating, can you stay? Be my
ontograph and discompose. If only you do not try to utter what
is unutterable then nothing gets lost. But the unutterable will be
—unutterably —enjoyed in what has been enjoyed.