white noise

White Noise

All Summer, the cicadas and their terrible project

That sound, what is it? Some last grand revving

Of tiny motors

Louder and louder like the crack of a gun

He says his brother built a chamber for a cicada

Where to tickle its husk was to pull the trigger

He says you know

They hibernate

I know more than this

He says you know they take to the air for prime numbers

But I know more than this

And I’m searching for the sound

For the rattle inside their bodies

For their memory of the future

Where the mercury lake rises to nothing

She says how do you feel about the future?

About Spiritual Things?

I tell her I need to take a piss

Because energy needs to keep passing through

Matter like nothing is the matter, it needs to keep on

Crushing in the infernal sound of the cicadas

On and on and on

All Summer

On and on and on

Their sound which is

Not their sound

But the world’s creaking orchestra

On and on and on

Like a cocoon she says

And I agree with her

Yes the first home

On and on through the shell we enter

And leave in breath

On and on and on

This terrible singing

In the hives of the Ark