I steal
bobby-pins and sugar
and creep
back.
Drown out the sounds of talk
with music
that scatters my thoughts like a glass dropped.
"Sailing to shores of white sand"
"Sinking to the muddy bottom"
I trade these for the other, and dream of a time when I will be able to hear them again,
when music will fill up my house like a tight brown drum.
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