Dumb Silence

could I handle the silence?
no.

silence doesn’t exist.
it comes in cacophonies.

silence is not a literal thing
it cannot be described
you cannot take a blood sample or map out its chemical composition.
sound waves, at their least,
can only be very, very small,
but they are always
SINGING.

it is ambience.
it is an orchestra.

crickets.
dehumidifiers-RASPING, GASPING in the corner.
strange, metaphysical HUMMING
from things we no longer believe in
because ghosts dance, too, you know�
and all that dances,
makes
NOISE.
silence is music for the ghosts so that they will have something to dance to.

could I handle the silence?
no.

silence is ambiguous acoustical pitches and swells,
the refrigerator?
the furnace?
silence is everything you can’t quite put your finger on.
silence is TAPPING on a keyboard looking for the
delete
key
while she is asleep upstairs,
still BREATHING.

could I handle the silence?
no.

should I turn the radio up to drown it out?
tires SCREAMING against dark pavement on a long drive home?
or motors RUNNING?
or my own thoughts?
or the pages of my book there in the passenger seat-
FLUTTERING, MUTTERING secrets
as the wind intermittently BEATS and CARESSES them?

too often do we misconstrue silence
as the absence of a human voice,
but that is not what silent is
or what silent means.

silence is like utopia

there is simply no such thing

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