QUIET COUNTRY IN THE NAME OF FIELDS

recreating stillness in my home
by the ear of the city savvy--

I think of the quietude of outlands
as a roughened silence / where skies
consume sound like the lights,

forfeiting memories of stars,
of wildlife or the movement of trees
with passive shuffle-sounds of wind.

I think of wrapping darkness
and silence in totality / the animals
are dead, as still as a thing can be.

a man asked to watch a meteor shower
forgetting my enduring apathy,
so I went along / it was beautiful,
but inside of painful thought, I didn’t care.


so I pull my curtains for dampening.
my house, it sits dug into the ground,
lets its dirt / cement shroud hold the streets,

and sirens are caught in humid air,
shuffling drunks can’t pierce through,

like they’ve never been actualized--
this is how I see the creeping dark
of land away from liveliness.

it’s fidelity to the void, or it’s
all the ways that I don’t know better.

keep my missing memories intact,
let me trust in the silence of far away,
it’s deafened.

Please reload