Classified

CLASSIFIED 

Writer retreats, seeking silence. 

Not like that of a hermit. 

Like that of the dead. 

Not cavern high 

nor bricked-in cell  

nor snaking catacomb 

will serve for it. 

Writer requires the absolute, 

the Kelvin-point of silence. 

Seeks abandoned horse-box 

interred in a glacier. 

Seeks cabin on a sunken ship 

riveted to bedrock 

‘neath the Mariana Trench. 

Seeks passage on  

an interstellar time machine  

travelling back, way back 

to before the Big Bang. 

There at the start, all-generating silence. 

There at the end, all-annihilating silence. 

Existence rounded out &  

encircled by silence. 

The storms on Jupiter drowning  

in the tearooms of silence. 

All the clamour of our commerce  

dissolving now in the conches of silence. 

The pinnacle,  

the wherewithal,  

the fuck-em-all 

is silence. 

Silence. Like soliloquies the Gods’ make. 

Like the conscience of a tyrant. 

Like fire in the ice of a comet. 

Like the eyeless eyes of science. 

Like a typhoon at your neck, 

borne about the place in a locket. 

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Classified is from my collection Medium