Decomposed

You’re a traveler for the sound of wings.

Its organic, magnetic, comforting flutter

Eases you, resolves you, melts you into consonance

Whose song sings the thing, that lies…. within

The rhetoric of freeways,

That stripe of sound

Dividing you into directions all around

 

Off-ramps, like arms,……reach…..

Fail to catch your ass into neighborhoods.

You’re yelling at deafening speeds

Echoing,……you count mileposts like seeds

Destinations are blurred and blaring

Definitions are judgments on maps……

As if the sound of your voice wraps………..around

Where you’re from.

This must be who you are

That’s why all ask the near and far

Where are you going?

It is….

…”Here”, you always say

To break the silence

 

You ask when you’re going to be done, done, done…?

With the stagnation of quietude…?

That very thing that mirrors you…?

You want yourself to be outside of self

A tune….. someone else can hum

The sum of mangled mum,

To patch the latch

That locks the song,

That finds the flutter,

the ripple of touch

A Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah moment

That merges the lanes…of….

The freeway that guts the city into glitter

With the sharpened knife, full of jitters

You think sound cannot be quelled

It is silence that must be felled.

 

Carpool lanes attempt to sort things out

Engineers search to create

Cars that do not grate

While the engine da doo ron rons.

No one can stop the transmission

Of your travel, the unravel amongst the gravel

You’re too fast to be unheard

Too certain to be burdening the rewording of

The sound you peep… so neat…it squeaks

It’s a power, an achievement

Of gaining that smidgen, that nudge, the fudge of meaning…

Modern meditation, the mediation of the autobahn Om

Rolling grooves into the sound soul syndicate of one, benumbed  

 

Silence waits for no one

Why would it? Why should it?

It’s always there, bare.

When you think you are disabling it….

It, actuality, is disabling you,

Gabba Gabba hey

Your mouth seeks control

Shaking beyond, vibrating soul

You are in the age of yelling

Fuck listening, it’s not selling.

You’re traveling with headphones on

By the time you’re here, you’re gone

You force cracks in the sound continuum

Silence must be held to a minimum.

Then, all perception you can collect

Is understood like the Doppler Effect

Signified by unstable frequency

The flutter who always has to fly 

 

 

 

 

(To the future quiet ones,    

Look back to this poem with silent praise for those who had shut the fuck up before you. May the daily clash of clatter, twisters, tsunamis of the tongue, find composure in your blogosphere. Silence is not understood by the living. The dead understand it well. The universe understands it better. Looks like “we’re” outnumbered.)

Dedicated to the architect. Who, most likely, has no idea who he is, but knows the sound of his own voice.

 

 

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15 Responses to Decomposed

  1. chrisbkm says:

    w o w. What a ride!
    I think it’s the first time I’ve ever read in my head in spoken word.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. snookuponya says:

    This is perfection. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. desiree says:

    whooooosh! amazing!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I like the hum of the tadumdumdum the “scream of consioudness”* the driving images, even the touch of the beat poets that comes into my head. Thanks.
    *This is the title of a poem I writing. Well…I’m trying to write.

    Like

  5. Peri Dwyer Worrell says:

    Yes!!!!!!!!

    Like

  6. MuseWriter says:

    wow this is great. i must confess i had to read this twice to fully imagine the big picture but powerful message for sure. i especially liked how this lined up:

    “This must be who you are

    That’s why all ask the near and far

    Where are you going?

    It is….

    …”Here”, you always say

    To break the silence”

    Like

    • Elan Mudrow says:

      Silenus may hold a clue for you about sound and sacrifice.

      Liked by 1 person

      • MuseWriter says:

        It’s true, I thought as much on first impression, finding metaphorical similarities even. I think there’s comfort in trying to understand a doo da moment, if such a thing could ever exist but then again, maybe only flutterings of a pinhead (no more!)? Lol philosophy is so intense sometimes; not meaning to break the silence but I do hope to keep everyday open to opportunity, whatever that really means for me. And that’s the point? Those questions…I saved this to read later, maybe I’ll learn the next time I write something down, I never know sometimes. I have another shout out of praise for your words, “Rolling grooves into the sound soul syndicate of one, benumbed.” Lovely visual. Thanks for this.

        “But we are young, We run green.” https://youtu.be/t-2dqMaf4-w Popped on randomly and I couldn’t resist.

        Like

  7. Tsuki san says:

    wish i can write like you

    Liked by 1 person

  8. suezway says:

    This is a great post!! I had to reread it to understand but it was worth it!!
    Amazing and wonderful writting!!

    Like

  9. Wow Elan, I love this one! “The freeway that guts the city into glitter, with the sharpened knife…” so good!

    Liked by 1 person

  10. dornahainds says:

    Fascinating. 😎

    Like

  11. Phil Huston says:

    “The tongue is but a clapper.”
    – Virginia Woolf
    Funny how we devise ways to block sound with other sounds. The pink noise escapism mantras. Music, the rhythm of traffic, it all happens in the silence between events. Silence as a sculptor. What a concept…

    Like

  12. CreandoNihil says:

    The words you chose makes your poem remarkable!

    Like

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