~Going Deaf I~
But: somewhere a memory of
sound
creeps down deep into the creases
between the smile or frown, wrinkling
the bleary notes of words, the conversation
lost as though the air could not contain
redact reductive commonsense wrapped
into the moments of thickthread stranded
hair tugged and worried at with crookrough
fingers, rubbing away the drowsingdrowse
that malingers in motes at the corners of eyes,
the saltylife flowing from sleepdeprive tears,
the silence not quite more than a man can bear,
the music, the echoes, the buzzing and tinny,
the sadness of too few coffeesips, or far too many,
the din of silence traced by the flex of mouths,
the drinking from green ceramic branded mugs,
the sink of words never to come round again,
the thoughts turned brackishdour, a day deferred
for another
life or just another hour.
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