under the veil
october 25th 2022 6:40 pm ︎
i almost do not want to breathe, that’s how quiet i want it to be.
just for a moment-
i’d like to feel the room is empty
the roads are closed;
the home is clean;
the sails are finished and ready to fly
the way i see it,
the world is a linen
placed atop a phonic vacuum;
set tersely upon the universe,
absorbing its energy,
and expelling a sonar roar on its behalf.
like crashing waves
stitched to the beach ground;
gusts of fabric rise and fall-
sworn to remain sand-swept,
functional.
its howl clothes our very nature;
its undone edges ruffle with gusto;
its unsown corners take flight.
just once i would like to lie down on it-
sincere
being so tired and truthful,
and to reason with it-
to have it consider silence.
i would argue how nice it would be,
to be able to feel
when a silk strand is being sent on its course through the wind
by a floating spider
to reach out
and fall
when my hands search to wrap themselves around sonic blooms-
but today,
i am wrapped in static terrycloth;
i am too immersed in being alive.
and throughout my waking
i will have to sail-
dragging my oars through sound and salt,
through hot, crackling choirs;
in search of the muted foals
who,
in stillness,
somehow manage to allude my careful coursing.
wrapped in quietude
in the underbelly of the fitted sheet,
is a reception which keeps running from me.
hushed science i wish to inhabit,
tranquil sense i wish to know profound,
the song of silence under the veil;
seahorses galloping with no sound.
i almost do not want to breathe, that’s how quiet i want it to be.
just for a moment-
i’d like to feel the room is empty
the roads are closed;
the home is clean;
the sails are finished and ready to fly
the way i see it,
the world is a linen
placed atop a phonic vacuum;
set tersely upon the universe,
absorbing its energy,
and expelling a sonar roar on its behalf.
like crashing waves
stitched to the beach ground;
gusts of fabric rise and fall-
sworn to remain sand-swept,
functional.
its howl clothes our very nature;
its undone edges ruffle with gusto;
its unsown corners take flight.
just once i would like to lie down on it-
sincere
being so tired and truthful,
and to reason with it-
to have it consider silence.
i would argue how nice it would be,
to be able to feel
when a silk strand is being sent on its course through the wind
by a floating spider
to reach out
and fall
when my hands search to wrap themselves around sonic blooms-
but today,
i am wrapped in static terrycloth;
i am too immersed in being alive.
and throughout my waking
i will have to sail-
dragging my oars through sound and salt,
through hot, crackling choirs;
in search of the muted foals
who,
in stillness,
somehow manage to allude my careful coursing.
wrapped in quietude
in the underbelly of the fitted sheet,
is a reception which keeps running from me.
hushed science i wish to inhabit,
tranquil sense i wish to know profound,
the song of silence under the veil;
seahorses galloping with no sound.