Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










By Joseph Schreiber

Speak now

Dissolving. On the tongue. Words
lost in the effort to expel sounds.
Low enough. Loud enough. Long enough.
Meaning and intent sacrificed.
Muted. Voiceless.

He feels as though he has not
spoken for days. Muscles unexercised
atrophy. In the throat. Exercised,
they exhibit the strain.
Breathe deep. Swallow hard.

He hates to hear his voice recorded.
Replayed outside the chamber of his skull,
fracturing his continuity. His reconstituted being.
His wholeness in the world.

In silence he can imagine any voice he desires.
Timbre. Volume. Resonance. Control.
In silence he is safe. From echoes of the past.
From remnants of another life.
 
 
 
← Joseph Schreiber