There was an insistent hum in the ear
not the drum, although it was a snare, a kind of repetitive
sneer
something you couldn’t quite hear,
but which was surely audible enough to cause a stir in the
room,
a shifting from side to side, a redistribution of the weight
we carry daily, and take with us to our beds,
something the springs won’t unload,
and no amount of cotton can swaddle
no bud can unpick or portion out in frequencies
that a human can handle, a sound like pips
squeaking in their pith
or imaginary hooves drumming out the day
for a choir of roosting crows.
