Voice In The Dark
Sometimes I hear it
Spread its breath
In a corner of the room.
It amplifies the glow
And tint of naked silver
Breaching the vestige of shade.
Sweet tumours of noise
In the granite silence,
The perfect disaster,
A civil war of the senses.
Sometimes I hear the voice
I know does not exist
Rest its broken throat
In a debt of words
Waiting to be ignored.