I escape with my life
and sanity, but barely
from the CNN talking heads
too loud, too long
drill through my bedrock skull
melt my permafrost brain
infanticide of all thought.

I seek refuge and repair
among nuts and bolts
down Lowe’s long aisles
but the noise we once called
elevator music
plunges me down
into something like grief
for murdered thought.

I am redeemed, rescued briefly
by an unlikely savior:
a cashier with a lilting Jamaican accent
more music than the alien chords
that invade my mind control
cleave thought from self
more sword than chord.

Right down the road
the library, shiny new
surely offers quiet
thought resurrection.

I sit among others
so many others
in blissful blessed quiet
reading, working, sleeping even
in the quiet cool.

Available comfortable seats are few
but I find one of an empty pair
in front of a large window
no CNN, no shared noise
pretending to be music.

There my mind births thoughts
without contortions or labor pains
with surprising ease
a quiet birth
in a quiet place

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s