Tuesday, February 2, 2016


And here, have a listen : all those planes
are coming in from over the ocean, as they
swoop and descend to Newark. Right in from
over the water. Where they've been. The men
are here with lists -  measuring things in decibels
as they stand on this bridge. I want to ask them
something, anything, but have nothing really to 
say. It's not the noise, really  -  I've heard motorcycles
louder than this  -  but more it's the reason. Why
do we so surely do this, and where does everyone
go, and why? That's a question I'd like to ask.
The roar of another, coming in, has actually a
comforting feel. Like a huge, rocking bear of a noise,
to hold me and swaddle me too. I can rest easy and
assured  -  of things in place, and working; of all those
maddening people on the come and go circuit of time.

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