Tell me less, about how your knees crunch
like opening a bag of chips,
and tell me more about
how saying hi to them feels like
stuffing your mouth with receipts from the supermarket,
so instead you run away,
with thermal paper spewing
from your mouth
so please,
tell me how your lungs breathe
like a french couple making love
to the beat of a cash register,
or how your sleep apnea sounds like
the chirping of birds by the shore,
or tell me how your dream speech
sounds like hissing meat on the grill,
with fat slurping out your belly,
like sweat beads when you sunbathe
outside LAX.
Tell me of the ringing sound,
inside your airplane ears
ringing like getting punched in the face,
ringing like an old telephone,
quiet ringing, like wearing earmuffs underwater,
or babbling baffled speech like Kenny from South Park.
Tell me how your hairy urethra sounds
when you go pee
in a gas station
and the urine splits in two directions,
splashing sound, cascade sound,
water on water, water on concrete,
water on white shoes...
Far away,
with eyes closed, a head-shaven monk
meditates to the sound of a bamboo fountain,
going up and down,
and farther away, he hears
copper coins kinking away
the cobblestone, and
further-further away, he hears
a summer pond sighing
from humans bathing in it.
Further below, he hears munching
sounds from fish nibbling
hairy human legs, he hears
plop sounds from fat fearful fishes
submerging underwater.
Thirty feet north, he hears
someone going into cardiac arrest,
with a train arriving at a sudden stop
on the background.
A hundred and fifty-three meters
below the surface of the pond, he hears
the sound inside a bell,
the silent roar of water caves,
which brings him back to OM,
to the beginning of the universe,
to the sound of rapture
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