Part of Sound

I never minded

A baby screaming on a plane; I was always in favor of saying what you mean whenever possible.

I myself felt myself torn to inarticulate bits:

& capable of no such feat

Like my high school copy of Nausea put through a wood chipper, snowing down fragments of thought across conversations

Do you know what I mean?

Could you know what I mean? I mean, can you really get what I’m saying?

The reach was always the same: the way we held hands in the movie theater until my fingers went numb and even after, even after that, plump and motionless but present in yours 

The pinpricks on my hand were screaming, delicate so delicately

And later you rested one such finger on the blots of me that were inkless, questioning

But what was there to say? 

I was disappearing, fading not so poetic as organic: the entropy of it all, the softening decrescendo of a cry  

The way the wails wore out to the smallest parts of sound,

breath and an inadequate silence