Cure for Noise

Birdman’s showing
Sparrows,
But I can’t attend.

There’s a ringing
In my ears —
A crazyhorse afterburn.

Only cure I know
Is more noise,
And I should have listened.

You were right
About where one might find
An opening to slip through —

Back into the world.
Sometimes the only cure
For overexposure is more.

And the blinding noise
And the puzzling crowd
Crash through the blue windows.

In the morning,
A guitar sings
Of home.

More wood to burn,
And at 5:28,
A phrase perfectly turned —

And it’s music.
And it’s always been music
That guides this thing to port.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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