r.c.

I am humming a song that does not exist,
making a sound with no thoughts but to make,
but to sing, but to spill out a tune
with no words.
Perhaps they'll mean something soon.

I am humming a song so I can fill in the quiet
of a boring afternoon.
A spliced rhythm, a muddled riot;
the walls listen to my artless croon.

I am humming a song with no words.
A hollow shell echoing, whispering
the beat that repeats in thirds.
Monotony is in full swing.