I’m drowning. In a sea of wires.
They are everywhere. Inescapable.
Frail solitary man there in your mottled,
Damp armchair of brown and cream roses,
Forgive me for this shuddersome strangulation.
A pounding thump on the radio –
It drowns you out. A new generations earmuffs.
Its deprivation leeching also the echoes
that stir us most: A hallowed church, incense