December 8, 2009

The History of Listening

nearing this heft, nearing
tides and lamplight and
accumulated heirlooms placed
in a row, tambourine-like, against
the pressure of outside, out
of hearing, struck instead
by the riotous friction of cells
on cells, hunger, tissue rustling
just to the left of profound—and
silence is cradled in your impossible mouth
a wordless o obediently biting
off a reply to propriety, a vital levity
in the parabolic viscera, those homey
keys to absolute knowing, knowing
the space your voice should be going,
should be a nostalgic scent in the fabric,
should be resolutely circling the already known.

1 comment:

Levinson Axelrod said...

Enjoyed this poem very much. Great talent.