I’m all ears


All sound of the relish split under the hill, healing the chaos of the cry,
double miseries vomited the resonance of her cracks 
in front of the conscience.

The years of birth and youth yearned for the command to tear her— 
to become lighter and pitiable. Am I all ears 
for visuality that chews and spits out
a state of being ambivalent,

through months of repentance, awakening, 
and needless anxiety?

Keep recalling the low-resolution footage 
of the fury and resentment toward a stranger,
with the sadness the rupture of childhood provokes— 
unseemly— with the steadfast decision, 
without the hour of desire,

within the socially permitted 
level of aggression,

controlling the trial of the time and language,
she pieced together the complete alibi, 
as if apprised of the authority of all past and future, 
like a sole religion.

What the force gave birth to 
was the complete belief, 
void of uncertainty, regarding 
both wish and horror,
replaying the kid’s paranoia. 

Watching the sole line passing her lifetime, I checked out a room of one’s thirties,
unchangeable, irrepressible, and indelible thing, and still she
cries out for a kind of freedom,
even as her passage of day remains trapped in it,
caught between being treated and being tricked.

Responding like ears for all, 
to soak up all the sound of refusals, 
sort of resistance,
my replies were growing faint.