The frame.

The vase falls
Making the same
Noise, all over.
The vase breaks,
Not like an egg,
Empty, all over.
I wonder how
I have nothing to say
Nothing to disrupt
But my chilling
Sterilizing pride.

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That`s it!

Over barren ground I stand, my brain cells refusing further noise abuse.
I dream of a new device that can mute the whole world and the reinvention of the country (as opposed to rural).

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Summers.

 
The field,
Conscious of time,
like a sundial
soothes me
by the breeze.
I walk,
Lights and shades
tattooing my skin.
I fancy
whole silence,
A flawless moment to accept
That I am made of
Abiding matter and
Patterns of anxiety.
A dread,
Over my brain
Summer plays
Like a can-opener
pressing my polite uprising
to scatter within
my walls,
like beads.

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