sigh less
fingers of silence in the sun
my eyes run into the non-sound
of the ringing of the mind
stopping
forever seeking
the source of the ending
daffodil to daffodil to shrub-hedged rolling woods
and mountainsides of thoughts climbing out of this lea
lead me lead me to thee
any bloody alliteration to jar this soundlessness
any peregrination to any squealing gate but no
the fingers of silence press
even the frog in my belly has left me
the caressing sun almost a sound upon my skin
the hair’s frenetic raising at the ghost of a chance
that this silence will be for evermore
oh no no no
but yes yes
why not retreat down into the cavern
down the back of the neck-spine
down
to where the screams are pulseless
to where the tombstones whisper
welcome home welcome home
don’t knock it son
don’t knock it
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