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
