Bugolgi Apparatus

 For Patrick Bocarde  Between the refrigerator  and air purifier  there’s a little hum  pitched a little higher  you’d be wrong  to think “tinnitus” it’s the siren call the  “why” of existence  we all march  to a different drum  but all hear the sound  of the hum  those industrial engines  never go quiet  sounds of space  sound like traffic  we could elevate  silence to a science  but the sound of life  is circulation  smoke and drink  till we’re numb  defeated by  that little hum  rhythm of  your respiration  pulse of my  perspiration  our vertical  frustrations  leave us  in the mud  knocking knuckles  with the dawn  vibrating  with the hum

I break up with you every night   cheat with every image in mind   I see you again; nothing’s happened   freedom of this prison inspires   door of the jail is open   I come back; lock myself in   just in time for breakfast   and news about your kids   you go somewhere else in mind   I’ve never been there   from what you describe I wouldn’t survive   I’m glad we’re here instead   sparks between us maintain   like firefighters after rains burning’s there with slow repair   we’re on top of the maintenance