The Sound You Cannot Hear, But I Drown In It.
There is a subtle sound to silence,
Persistant like a ringing telephone.
Apartment windows glow in the night.
Motorcycles rev like chainsaws at the corner of Forest and Park Ave.
Under the linens of my bed,
My cabeza hums like the rusted wheels of a chugging locomotive.
Chugging, until I derail it.
All I need are the cement blocks.
In my sleep, the humming becomes more passive,
And it allows me to dream.
To recapture that silver gooeyness,
Smothered between my dry lips,
Caked where my hands wrapped around your hips.
So long ago.
When i wake up the hum returns,
As if a thousand flies crept into my sleeping ear,
Their wings battering against the edges of my skull,
Festering, breeding, dying.