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The gate is wide open, the madmen escape.

José Saramago


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🦋 The thin shrill whine of creeping hearing loss

The noises on my evening porch on Meeker Street divide
into infrequent spots of sound --
the quiet cars and trains far off and sometimes getting closer --
and constant streams,
these further classified
into degrees of variation:
cicadas' incessant, homogenous roar
muffles
    (but listen closer)
the babbling brook of excited birds:
the quiet fizz of soda in my glass.

posted evening of Friday, June 8th, 2012
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