Dead Silent
The buzz cut off in the flower's throat,
the crunch of green in the hornworm's jaw
gone, and that was the first silencing.
The roadrunner's raspy morning cough,
the thud and peep of the grey toad's hop
stopped, the second silencing.
The bagpipe gliss too high to hear
deep in the whales' wet meadowlands,
the third thing silenced.
Science sucked into apathy's muck,
sense and sanity duct-taped dead:
the brutish silencing.
The white noise of fools, the grinder's carouse of greed
eating greed, the barker's pitch for fresh trash and blood
plays loudest where breathing is silenced.
October 2021
posted for Compound Word Verse
at dVerse Poets
and earthweal's
gliss: abrv, glissando, a glide from one pitch to another
Images: Wing Of A Blue Roller, 1512, Albrecht Durer Public Domain
Untitled (Firetower) © Zdislas Beksinksi Fair Use
