Drama,
Poems,
Essays

LISTENING



Restless and cold, I toss in the sarcophagus,
Listening for voices in the world. I hear
Rustles of rats scuttling in the wainscot; hear
Rustles of earthworms slowly eating cold dirt.
I hear . . . scratching of birds, starving for crusts.
I strain -- yet hear nothing else.

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Last modified: 1:41 AM 10/14/2001