THIRTY TATAMI MATS

the human ear is a barrier between us & the world of sound once its lost then we have no need to tell birds apart in effect eternal sounds erased an inverted dome the brain sets in like a permaculture pond sucks the earth it can hear your blood & your heart's a rising crescendo of comepressed air the syringe of wax stuck inside there to make plugs that keep the oceans out sharp pincers ripping a dried glob cram a cotton bud or ball then gauze crackle a scabs drum goes pop release pressure falls barometers beneath hiss & spin about no sounds come out lying flat in that recovery room i felt brittle eardrums now lanced in a dumb zone shielding eyes from sounds of a mime recurring thatched straw piles of mats slats improbably white rooms hearing the bright lights i cried out at no-one listening hearing myself talking inside while making out that single external sound a code memory stacked like the crackle of a soft page at your ear like thirty tatami mats in the airs around my head playing snap but i can't tell who won or who pulled to the latch

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