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All is quiet,
nearly.
The old fridge hums
in its kitchen niche
intermittently.
Distant traffic swishes
through the wet night
A roar from a truck,
changing down,
on the highway outside.
I suppose my heart
adds to the sounds.
A cockroach would hear it
clinging to chest hair
while scavenging for
exfoliated epidermis.
It would be
sonically traumatised
'til aclimatised to
subcutaneous
rhythms cardiac.
And if it were possible,
to tunnel to cell,
microscopic within,
To hear
amplified sounds
at the coal-face of life.
My mouth slackens.
I roll
larboard to starboard.
Cardio-vascular
deceleration occurs.
The trap-door
opens, and
I drop down to sleep.
-----------------------------------
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