More

Words seem to be occurring with a greater ease, these days.

I will enjoy it, before it flees.

- - -

study of the ear, v

"Loneliness is a breeding ground for sickness."
-Irvin Yalom

god there is sickness
everywhere
like in the atomic nucleus
of the nuclear family,
just waiting, waiting for
the detonation

and in every threadlike line
of solitude there's that same
sickness, in every
threadlike line
lining what used to
be unlonely and unlined

it is such a long wait,
wading here until our
skin wilts,
trying to uproot
from the salty waters
some medicine--
some cure

waiting like
anticipating the oncoming
wave in the sea

see, I've heard that
enormous noise before--
it was something much
more real than solitude
or sickness

living seemed so sharp,
hearing that crash.


study of the ear, vi

the doctor told you
that your ears were full
of scabs and liquid,
that a scrupulous cleaning
would return to you
comprehension

you became disoriented
post-scouring,
your sleep and sadness
avalanched,
the edgy permafrost sliced
any gladness and
the slushier waters
began to seep
everywhere

mopping up
the saturated mess
will take so much time

so much time


study of the ear, vii

let us rewrite the definition of 'home'
have it say:

--noun /hoʊm/
1. a location in which
there is faultless clarity
in every uttered sound

where the acoustic
resonance is flawless
where all the auditory things
are perceived and realized
sweetly, and with strength

where language
gives sense to everything

where it has encountered
no damage


study of the ear, viii

so many words about ears
and mouths and the body

so many words
written to convince that
I understand such things

but I understand nothing of the body
nothing of chronic disease
nothing but the pumping of
laboratory-birthed medicines
to perpetuate a life

can you feel the sterility of it
inside you? can you feel
it when it enters just beneath
your skin—the humanly-forged
things that try to restrain
you from the loss of your eyes
and your limbs and your heart
and your viscera and your ability
to feel anything or
to love anything or
to know anything but the
relentless betrayal
of the body?

you breathe because of
this invasion of replication—
the clones of
truly-animal concerns,
of the clinical operations of
these prescribed, vialed things

you persist because your
body howled once and the response
was prepackaged
and ready for injection

you heard the shrillness
of that weeping
you felt it in your cramping heart,
you had spent so long
immersed in the brutality
of sleeplessness

so why, when your body
turned against you
was there an answer in
modern medicine
yet there is no answer
for when you face
the living masses,
try to urge forth words,
and nothing pours
but speechlessness?

it pours
they release their umbrellas
they are dry and unhearing
and you are drowning
in everything
but a cure