mind

radio humming. mower growling. sprinkler clucking. robins warning. can i hear the silence between these sounds? these sounds too will fade but this space is here. this space fruits and dies and births and wanes and orgasms and decomposes.

music tinkles. a harp? a xylophone? the mower sighs into soundlessness. the world is beyond comprehension.

thoughts stab into the things around. questions penetrate. insights climb like ants in a pile, suffocating one another in a struggle for supremacy. for knighthood. here, this one is special, this one should be plucked from the pile and examined in the light. the ant squirms under scrutiny. it is so puny and irrelevant. it is overwhelmed in the open space. it is better left to the anthill, part of a wilderness but not above it.

pleased voices weave a painting. mower erupts again. body melts.