WE WEARING SO MUCH NOISE.

Aaaby Michael Cormack12 Jul 2013

How often we pull ourselves apart;
these broken bodies of pianos,
these
music box machines
of
spinning parts and clockwork mechanics.

Some days there is so much static fuzzing through my skull,
buzzing between stations that i can't remember
what it might be that i am building
or
what it is that built this day.

(That which crafted us from crystal and dust is)

Fuzzing through thoughts, static
humming like buildings,
filled with workers and voices,
all murmuring like weekday mornings. I am mourning the midnight;

the quiet awe, the silent library of stars, and space
-the abandoned workshop of gods
where
i can wonder at its endless walls
wander
in its whys,
in its questions, carved
into eloquent equations, stretching
between worlds
billions of light years apart.

Where i can make patterns of it's architecture;
paint with the ghosts of those who painted this.
Where i can read the lines in their palms as art,
read the lines in these books as science.
Where we can pull ourselves apart ;
these well worn instruments,
these
tubes and strings.
Where
we can look inside, beyond the workings

find something worth holding onto,
some resonant chord humming into,
moving through this,
knowing simply,
its place in this empty symphony.