"audiophile" poems
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
For it no longer echoes in my ears, in my fingers,
in my tongue. These endless digits fallen instantaneously
numb like a local anesthetic or winter basement nights
alone in the dark.
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
It's melodic tones and overtures, the way it wraps
around words like my hands around your curves.
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
And how I fed on it like the word of God.
This is the day I forget the sound of your voice.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
You messaged me yesterday.
Snide words about present company
and then wanted to see me. I agreed
because I no longer remembered the
sound of your voice. Those tones
and inflections that make the
ugliest insults sound like a church choir.
Spiritual. Soulful.
Your laugh rang through the car
like it has through the hollows
of my mind every night when
eyes are closed, beds are empty
and I try to remember the sound
of your voice.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
Chemical chains, the synapse, the grain
And forced, discreet , just pick up your feet
Emerge, the irony, nerves are complete
The scapegoat, the time, disguised in your crime
A field, left untouched
A song and a glow, for all those who know
Cracks in the concrete
Adjust the volume, edge of your seat
Bass, treble, iron hits the metal
Go grab a ride, and pedal, pedal, pedal
Shock therapy, through the ears, it would sound
An audiophile, without fear, is now found
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC