In the distance of an earphone

Bud, gives birth to wired vines. Stone-

Deaf, too tired for a word, but silent

Hums are easy, nodding “yes”. Not

Hearing any word she said, and

Yet it’s clear: This conversation’s end

Drifts ever near like snaking wires

In my ears. This fruit it offers

Tastes so sweet: A playlist, playing

Ever after, on repeat. Music’s praying

Twice, I’m told. Leave me to my verse

My scripture. Rewind tape and play.

Your words are honey now, my dear

But music got its venom in me first.


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