Muriel Nelson
	The first Word ’s most likely one we’d say no to, one that’s ‘good for us,’ tiny but irksome as a flea full of blood and itch, a prick and a bump from I Am Who I Am Who. . . and after such redundancy, an etc. — the whole run-on Bible and all small talk bang begats and reverb to the uttermost babble love and the hell of it — then end punctuation. The last ha? Omission?  That dotty stutter (may it still mutter on) might be the Word cooling like the sun, a sadness (Nusmido!) at the center of things shedding loves. . . (loves not), loves. . .(not) while the next-to-last speaker, who could make it matter, lies wide-mouthed and -eyed: breathless. Before and before, new creatures with backward ears (primitives) might have heard first words everywhere — every twitch, twitter, tremor, tremolo, bellow a switch, an utmost On! pronounced without end stop:   original awe arousal with echoes (tweak ears!) lasting on (box back no!) and on and   on and on: ah ——