That sound I try to avoid
The audience cries, “WHEEL OF FORTUNE!”
It sputters and scrapes in the periphery of my hearing
I don’t even have to force myself to not hear it
Which I do often, denying myself the acknowledgment of its frailty and fruitlessness
It could just as well be the fluttering of a bird’s wing which I try desperately to hear
But I couldn’t even if I tried
Everything is a blur
Everything is a slow heavy sliding of soundless iron
Soundless but still shrill in its imagining
That’s where you are now
Soundless in my imagining
