Nocturne: Nothing Is Heard

In the middle of a silence deserted as a street before a crime not even breathing so that nothing will disturb my dying in this loneliness with no walls at this hour when angles are escaping I leave my bloodless statue in the tomb of my bed and go off in the slow-moving moment in the interminable descent with no arms to stretch out with no fingers to reach the scale falling from an invisible piano with nothing more than a glance and a voice that can’t remember having left their eyes and lips what are lips? What are glances that are lips? and my voice is no longer my voice within this unwetting water within this plate glass air within this purple fire that slashes like a scream In the miserable game of mirror to mirror my voice is falling and my voice incinerates and my voice in sin narrates and my voice in sin elates and my poison scintillates like plate glass ice like the screams of ice here in the shell of my ear the pounding of a sea where I get nothing wet nothing for I’ve left my arms and feet on shore and I feel the net of my nerves being cast outside me and everything escapes like a calculating fish counting to a hundred in the pulse in my temples a dead telegraph no one is answering for sleep and death have nothing more to say.