"yesterday's committee,
sticks, but a broken drum,
midnight in the city,
flutes in a vacuum,
shut lips, sleeping faces,
every stopped machine,
the dumb and littered places
where crowds have been: ...
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all silences rejoice,
weep (loudly or low),
speak - but with the voice
of whom, i do not know.
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absence, say, of susan's,
absence of egeria's
arms and respective bosoms,
lips and, ah, posteriors,
slowly form a presence;
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whose? and, i ask, of what
so absurd an essence,
that something, which is not,
nevertheless should populate
empty night more solidly
than that with which we copulate,
why should it seem so squalidly?"
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text from brave new world by aldous huxley
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