There is a hum
That hears not me
But it.
The very reflection of itself
Ever present
Vibrant.
Buzzing
-It rings
A zing, to the
Past present and future
Its connected.
Reminding me to nurture,
Release.

Dont break the hum
Embrace it
So it doesnt drone on
Rather, the particles bond
Dont diffuse it
For it is music
It is The background to this rhetoric
And the catalyst serving as my outlet
Usurping my pouting fit
Cant let this be a nuissance
But rather serve me in this instance
For im set to fix
This mess thats got me in a twist
May i recognize the circumstances
That can help me ground this
Body ive been given to walk around in.
And so i hear the hum
That hears not it
So i can be here this very moment
In a blissful state
Instead of discord and dissonance.

As I close my laptop
and it snaps shut

my dog sits up
ears perked,
chest puffed, and

at the ready for
me to stand up
and grab a leash
and a plastic bag

for his ****.

And he knows this routine
because it has been seared
into his brain with the white-hot
branding iron
of repetition.

A force of nature.
A category-five hurricane.

We laugh at them
for chasing their tails
when the microwave dings,
for salivating at bells,
but
I am no better than they are.

The same routines
are seared into my brain, too—

stimulus, response
stimulus, response
eat, sleep, ****, walk, ****,

love, reproduce, etc.

and I will continue to do so
aimlessly
just like Ivan Pavlov said I would.

One day I’ll find myself
like he’ll find himself—
lying on a cold slab
in a sterile room
only half alive
aghast at how quickly youth slipped away
but otherwise numb

as loved ones circle around,
hands over their mouths,

horrified
to press the button.

Oh twisted stimulus,
****** of the soul,
you flood me with colour.

I spill out across the world,
being everywhere,
existing nowhere.

Once I've emptied,
I am void.
Incorporeal and numb.

Like mist in gale,
I am rushed,
into endless sky.

Notorious chemical,
beautiful chemist,
I am lost in your constellation.