the ghost symphony is
leaking
through the vents and
trickling
into my ears its aural pleasure
steaming, sticky into
my brain where it
mixes with my heart's
songbeat and floods unparalleled
down down down my
shivery shaky shoulders
(may's winter in the pacific northwest)
coursing my spinal cavities
killing calcium with long-dead
tones and rests
my hips absorb sound
like the dirt takes water
I am muddied like adobe
hard-drying and unforgiving
to the floor
I am the floor.
I am.
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