Walk through the park.
Sunday afternoon.
Lie on the grass.
Close your eyes.
Feel the sun on your face—
soft, warm.
Listen to the world breathe.
Walk to your car.
Almost midnight.
Shove your name tag in your pocket.
Close your eyes.
Feel the blood pulse through your head.
Lie on sidewalk—
soft, cool.
Listen to the world cry.
Walk down the street.
Rainy afternoon.
Keep your hands in your pockets.
Keep your head down.
Sit on the curb.
Look at your shoes.
Close your eyes.
Feel the rain—
soft, comforting.
Listen to the world dream.
Walk down a trail.
By a river.
Step up to it.
Look at yourself.
Step into the river.
Sit in its bed.
Close your eyes.
Feel the water—
soft, passing.
Listen to the world die.
He/they. I teach English at a junior high school in western Washington. Outside of work, I worry about a myriad of things and spend time outside.
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2 thoughts on “Listen to the World”
I’m sort of enamoured with the levity of your style. Your quiet bombast seems filigreed with this sublimated, agrestic oscillation of textual temperatures. It’s as if you played upon your own playfulness in order to give magnitude to a poem; it’s marvelous. I envy.
I’m sort of enamoured with the levity of your style. Your quiet bombast seems filigreed with this sublimated, agrestic oscillation of textual temperatures. It’s as if you played upon your own playfulness in order to give magnitude to a poem; it’s marvelous. I envy.
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Thank you so much for the feedback!
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