clean slate

The pen is rhythmless--

it makes sounds meaningless.


explosions land dense

and attenuate into thuds

onto surrounding dead ground


screams dissipate soft

into lossy acoustic funnels

like padded white-cloaked rooms


I've no need to wonder

why you don't hear..

I know the outer

dead space still hums


with the flutter and wave

of wings that sweep away

invader cranes that

linger long their skeleton feet


in muddy, waterwashed banks.

◄ transaction

heatseeker (archetypes) ►


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Thu 29th Sep 2016 01:51

Hello, All,

You got must be because we are so much more than our words, David. Though, it can seem like disappearance from the world when we cease to use them. I've seen times when I could barely speak for days on end because I was so far removed from the world I was forced to physically inhabit.

I tried, here, to blend elements of silence, sound, and movement. I suppose that's where the flightless "bird" comes in at the end. It's always there because it's unable to go anywhere of it's own accord--a lazy antagonist who leers and prods and picks because of it's own inherent lack of creativity. I have a hard time coming to terms with it's existence--even within the confines of my own writing.

Thanks for reading and, as always, I'm grateful for your comments.


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Stu Buck

Wed 28th Sep 2016 14:56

oh my. lossy acoustic funnels. if that isnt just wonderful.

love it. as usual, so much interpretation available. i always look forward to your work.

Tony Hill

Wed 28th Sep 2016 08:40

A very thought provoking poem. Enjoyed reading it.

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Wolfgar Miere

Wed 28th Sep 2016 07:11

How we struggle trying to convey our words, yet still cannot truly expel them from ourselves in any meaningful way.

I have no-idea if I have taken your words how they were meant, but I very much enjoyed them.


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