14,188. AT THE SOUND OF THE HAT

AT THE SOUND OF THE HAT

This life has become a purple silence,

and it hurts at every pore : Authorities

in heat, regulators on the drive, and

little women talking trash. I can't

drive home like this.

-

Two shacks in the woods : abandoned

for years, they call to me. I want to

live in isolation, no sound from the

ground, no sounds overhead. The

occasional wail of some scattering

bird, I guess I'll allow.

-

And how I pine for days of old; when

I was weak but my thoughts were bold.