because i must create the noises
in my sleep i won’t create noises
in that make is space dust seeming
to create something from deaf, but
collapsing ******

colliding in a semblance of color
or tune or something secret under
halftones in the black of space hum
soft with dust there, spinning, must be
unheard vertices

magic, maybe science scraping the
proprioceptive bottom like burning hair
stranding in orbit, together to wrap
noise into its little under humming
subliminal crease

slowly tease some crack; an ice exposed
from centuries knowing all the heights to
speak o’er rolling hills and stills of data,
grain into the simple cosmic after-fact
in a pin ***** steeps

i roll my eyes back so their iris
can pour a simple affect out it
curves cupping tension and clots
of noises, chimeric blood that statics
outwards, around me

because i must have hold of noises
in a system that can’t detect noises
in that pairing is voidness, clearing
painting nothing that can use of nearing
meaningless bodies