even the seagulls have begun to rev like motors
their urgent   apocalyptic craws embed the cathedral green
in the revelatory compass which points to doom
: the bins gushing with liquescent detritus.  
the crow rickshaws & the magpies 
pummel the air pneumatically. 
the trees inhale like air-brakes on buses.
the seasons conveyor-belt 
& churn out things to sell.   
bee-buzz amidst the ever-present   minatory traffic drone 
a distance from the ear.
the grass whirrs & vibrates clinically. 
the worms crank & creak in violent light
shitting out soil to grow monoliths. 

passing purple tipped hebe on the windy hill
I ask it for sage-words of advice 
because it endures us so well.
its silent ambiguity speaks tired volumes. 
if we listen close   like therapists   
objects will reveal-all     one day. 
but we don't know how to listen to our creations. 
this is why I know that if there is a god
he isn't listening to prayers. 
the productive rotting of peel 
& flesh makes mechanical melodies
if you plant your ear's zoom in their direction. 
what proof I have is in the pudding of tiny things.
Posted by:DPM

DPM is an idea-logue (sic) and object-oriented speculative realist, attempting to be response-able in an irresponse-able society.

2 thoughts on “Noises

    1. I’ll put more up in the coming posts, I have plenty. Thanks for always reading with such intensity. Means a lot. Hope you’re well.

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