A concerto of murmuring: coughs erupt in cacophonous corroboration of our incessant squirmings – (the discordant seat hinges shriek in one of two manners) a squeal emerges with each instance of immediate disturbance, though theses pepper the soundscape with paltry brouhaha, the auditory monstrosities of which I ruminate hold rank amidst the infinite Velcro disentanglement and perpetual zipper pull – those few who belabor the reclining process delay the course of consciousness for multitudinous millennia. Delving deeper into the room's firmly enshrouded acoustic encodings, I dredge our hesitant scribblings: syllabic inscriptions etched by a vertiginous array of eroding instrumentation, the white cliffs of Dover scrawled upon boards of obsidian basalt, though the deep black void now only a whimsical wish from my bygone days as preschool black board janitor, for chalk's sepulchral haze does now obfuscate my ebony desire.
0 comments:
Post a Comment