Silence's Echoing Rebellion (Self-Immolation)

silence is not a state of absence
she would say if her lips could move
quivering walls melting in candlelight
absorb nervous self-made murmurs

of course, we're inside today
mellow hospitality of familiarity
thousands of tiny memories
littering the room's austerity

silence is a state of companionship
between a moment and memory
fantasy within the infirmary

oh, I've heard these sounds before
they existed before silence

now, they exist after

and, as ever
after is as before
moments slide
silence fades loudly to darkness

so, when singing
changes the state of solace
from quiet shimmering silence
to the quixotic motions of sound
returning to the world of time
memories cascade orderly
into water-colored compartments

was I ever so young as to forget the meaning of time?

no, something tells me
from here or before
deep within my chest

the future is a cacophony
jittered with moments of silence
so scream in full color
just long enough to watch
the blackness fill the room
before slipping into tepid light
slighty sheltered inside
shivering in time
organic motions
keeping me alive

oh, how I love the silence
right before windows break
and shadows slip through blinds!

where is the aristocratic meter,
now,
to chip away at time?

it is so hard to judge the character of motion
as my vibrations continue to echo
through every atom borne
into this expansive procession

following the clicktrack
deep into the thickest matter
to find those morbidities:
my love, my pain, my solidarity

my incandescent confusion
of slumber in a world of senses
collapsing