A Weasel Waits

can't (describe)

a deafening sound comes from 

nothing and going to nothing

and pierces the sky about your 

ears and pierces your ears so your eyes 

shudder shut. 

Nothing troubles them more than 

precision loudness without 

aiming it at anyone. 

~ POP ~

It's well felt and 

the wariness it creates contributes

to the proxy contrition

when nothing is heard from you

and a fall and a smile and another fall

brings a song to mind.

One note after the other traipsing over my

sorrow and chasing demons down a cobbled lobe.

a weasel am I

~ POP ~

cardboard jawed and rubella nosed

and easily long in the 

greasy long grass,

 

waiting around for a sound.

But there's not a sound to be heard

in this world where a weasel waits.

Reviews

[Lilly Negoi]

"a weasel am I [...]
cardboard jawed and rubella nosed" -
for a poem you "can't (describe)" i'd say it says quite a lot of things :)