Found Sound
The guitar murmurs
each time it moves –
the excited glitter
of stilled strings,
the hollowed wood
echoing ghosts of notes
But the dust nestles
into the body
comfortably, each thin
pixel set to swallow
any instance of inadvertent
motion (synaesthetic?
movement into sound?
threnody?)
A stumble against
the door of the closet
releases a thick knock
and the dying chime
of a grandfather clock
moving past the hour
towards
a stilted
ticking
silence.
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