If I could trap the original noise
in my tympanum, instead of just its echo
– which echoes inward, away & wayward-
a noise so pent up in
iron chamber civilly & Cyrano de foolery,
it goes off half-cocked,
flaring
in such a shrill,
harrowing trajectory,
even the fools of schoolery
bend to secular knees in prayer;

if this noise could be captured & trained
to run freely, to and fro
-unhindered by the heaviness of its echo,
always dreaming-
playing for hours without scheming
or wanting
to contemplate the purpose
of its soul;

would I then be free to call it a day?

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