In the beginning was not the word, not yet
There was no sacred alphabet
No subject, object, verb or tense
Sound had not been enslaved to sense
The void was neither dark nor deep
It did not, like some giant, sleep
In cosmic unawareness, coiled
Undreaming of a world unspoiled
No melody did gently wake
This giant, nor did his soul take
The shape of song heard in his dreams
So making real what merely seems
Instead, an undivided howl
A random, preternatural vowel
No beauty, truth or goodness here
No sin, no shame, no guilt nor fear
There was no sacred alphabet
In the beginning was not the word, not yet
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