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Description

I

Noise thrives on mimicry—
counterintuitive, like
ecstasy; a wretched
enlightenment.

II

Commonwealth
prefers wealth not so common.
As though screaming
is the greatest chaos.

Those decibels
are red-black-red banding patterns;
a serpent that feeds on
your impression of fear.

III

The virulence of noise
is silent.

Once heard,
despair belongs to the
whims of weather,
eventually a rainbow.

The silence
is all yours.
But, it's namelessness
could usurp your pseudonym.

IV

A creature in confinement
grows numb in dull capacity
or vitriolic, like diesel
before the kiss of fire.

Erupting searing musicality
born to a lost symphony.
Cursing the hands
far behind the will of spirit.

Silence is to madness
as blood is to murder.
And euphemisms are abound—
allies of mimicry.

In retrospect, the madman
is recanted as brilliant.
For wearer of wigs and robes, murder
is crowned supreme justice.

V

A sob, recorded
sings a story, a resolution.
A choking agony, untold
invests expression in no language.

VI

“You need help”, is the diagnosis.
But those words
are the screaming sort of noise
made discomfiting by its accusation.

The sentiments that mesh and mangle into mud
clot your arteries, arresting the words
indicted for speechlessness.
We grow used to our skin until we don't.

Your mind, your asylum, your truths
are first siphoned through
the established successes of
acceptable, recycled opinions.

VII

Isolation: the observed loneness.
Silence—the eternally vacuous.
But as all black holes go—
everything and nothing are one.

Lymph nodes cast a fishing net
over a staggering heart.
The epileptic tick of second hands
into hours, millennia, or minutes.

VIII

It imparts unto Atlas
all the parallel worlds,
all the "could have been"—
and he; a reservoir for the triumph of others.

Silence dices up your faith
and stews a medley of self-contempt.
It boils, it burns
beneath a trembling, perspiring lid.

In silence, there is struggle
to climb without aid of a ladder.
The sloth of proud reward
tempts only the verbose.

IX

Silence has snapped your glasses in two—what of it?
vision cannot substitute for seeing.
Silence has divested you of comfort—and so?
the snake charmer fears the snake without his charm.

The intoxicated fury of worthlessness
is flammable, peerless, depthless.
Set fire to your silence—
and emerge in awestruck steel.