i hear nothing
over the roar
of intense silence

the solitude
of the nothingness
on the polished
metallic bench
and the sobering thought
no sounds to waste

it was the wrong rain,
the wrong kind of rain,
I was hoping for a deluge,
a cacophonous, overwhelming rain,
something to recall later,
"remember when he died?"
"oh man, the rain that day."

He was a soldier
living alone
He was a soldier
roaming the war zone

Living one moment
but oh not the next
and thus falls to me
to make sense of in text

I live in a hotel
where the walls are decorated with screams
One happy, one sad
and one inbetween

sleep
abstract enticement
                                    at mid-day
the crutch
                   holding up dreams
the sweet foment
                                of time
a quarter moon
                             distant and silent
                              ingesting twilight