I feel the xylophone bonging In the basement and I know I'm not supposed to acknowledge This restive midden. I stare. I make jokes, fall asleep, Pursue a course of people-pleasing That flares with creep light. I buy newspapers and drink coffee.
Music keeps me at a length From this feeling on both sides Of too much asked. The mother, Is she sick or not? Piercing Sounds come from the migraine. Is my mother sick or not. Is she An alien, and therefore am I one.
Cicadas and crickets like gold coast Sprinklers, gold is green. I run across a field but why Is endlessly implied. The same goes
For drinking a root, Walking the length of a stream From culvert to spider'd culvert. Alone doesn't care If we're alive, ambassador From the kingdom of silence To the boy who's quiet too Except around the word of the day.