The Striking Silence of MrT
Shhh…
They ask me why I am so quiet, but if I tell them, then I am not quiet anymore.
They ask me why I am so quiet, and my only answer is to spread my arms over the table, like wings on warm sand the soft wind caresses, sees to horizon, and beyond, in the voracious immateriality of sky blue emptiness, vagueness of a lazy mind, summer time procrastinators, the want for otherness, a stranger’s body delimiting one’s body, touch, nude in the blazing sun, disarmed.
Not a sound.
You’d think a bird should cross such a sky every now and then.
Not a sound.
A shift.
Emptiness.
So I look up, childlike shyness stains the corner of my lips. Fold my arms.
Why are you so quiet?
Shhh,
Not a sound, not a sound.
They ask me why I am so quiet, but if I tell them, then I am not quiet anymore.
They ask me why I am so quiet, and my only answer is to spread my arms over the table, like wings on warm sand the soft wind caresses, sees to horizon, and beyond, in the voracious immateriality of sky blue emptiness, vagueness of a lazy mind, summer time procrastinators, the want for otherness, a stranger’s body delimiting one’s body, touch, nude in the blazing sun, disarmed.
Not a sound.
You’d think a bird should cross such a sky every now and then.
Not a sound.
A shift.
Emptiness.
So I look up, childlike shyness stains the corner of my lips. Fold my arms.
Why are you so quiet?
Shhh,
Not a sound, not a sound.
Soundtrack: "I Almost Touch", Foehn
posted by MrT at 21:19
4 Comments:
Don't worry MrT, even your silence is golden.
It's been a while - a long while hasn't it? - this silence..
The robots have... adapted!
If for any reason you decide to return, hit me up with a comment, MrT - the essence of your writing is sorely missed.
Post a Comment
<< Home