October 30, 2007
It’s strange how voices can sound, sometimes
like the wind in the rustling trees
when you take in a thought
the sounds of people
(who really live in a range of just six degrees)
and absorb the sounds of their telephone calls
sport cheers and ear-piercing screams;
combine them together and then listen close;
it’s a buzz like a thousand caged bees.
And, it’s like
today I knelt in a riverbed
I rolled my jeans up close to my knees
and I screened your words like gold
but came up dry
when I quieted the sounds of the bees
all the muted sounds lived on
in the buildings and airplanes and seas
but I
in my watch with my telescope eyes:
I didn’t come up with a thing

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