the buzzing saws
Buzzing saws slice through the wind, cutting the train short, whistles,
silent matter, dogs scamper in order, growling and purrs, the body
crumbles. Sand between the fingers who clink against the metal bells,
jingling, announcing the season or the time. Clicking away down, heels clack
sounds of passionate, warm lovings. A smooch planted, a seed covered, the
dirt and wood crack beneath the boot which, with a gasp is relieved. A blade
drawn, eyes water, fall, sound of emotion, empty, the sound of silence.
Buzzing saws slash through waves of pure metal. Do you hear it? The
sound of a million violins. Open your eyes and listen; hey, lend an ear.
Clocks ring for midnight but the sun sets on the horizon. Suddenly shadowed
by a piercing black curtain, billions of birds, talking, making plans zip
through the air, like a million flying kites made of knives that pierce through
your ear drum.
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