The night is full of white noise
which sings constantly, just
beyond the edge of hearing.
What are its messages —
if they could be deciphered?
How can I separate out the words?
You want me to come, now,
and I want to come, now,
to some poetic conclusion.
We would like it to be
both simple and profound.
We would like it to be illuminating.
It should have a feeling of rightness
without being too obvious.
We might gasp with delight.
But the nature of white noise
is not like that; I think it’s anti-poetic.
It is both there and not there.
But it’s not a paradox either,
just an awkward fact, with nothing
riding on it, hanging on it, whatever....
NaPoWriMo Day 21
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