In the solitary hours
my ears play tricks on me.
Call this a confession if you will.
I hear things that I don't want to,
People talking indescriptively,
Electronic tones and beeps.
There are no voices in my head
Except my own,
The occasional lyrics of a catchy song,
And the imagined calling
Of my name in public places.
And I wonder at the chance
That I am not alone in this,
That others hear the things not there,
The mischief of pixies that dance in the ear.
Your lover leaves to errand
Promptly upon awakening to the late morning.
You must flee with him
So that the house remains in stabbing silence.
It is not so complete though
When capsuling the off rhythm ping
Of the radiators, the cracks of old walls
When the wind should dare to test them.
The refrigerator and the toilet
Take turns refreshing themselves,
But those ambiances only serve to exclaim
The sinister silence that reigns over all else.