There is the sound
of keys in a typewriter's body
soldered together pulling apart.
There is the sound
of a laugh at the throat of a word
slashing the sentence that imprisons.
There is the sound
of coffee late night in a place
too dark to see if place is hope.
There is the sound
of flame leaping farewell
deep in its eternal love of fire.
There is the sound
of velocity within the slowness of everything
speeding to the peak of immediacy.
There is the sound
of perception pied-piping to undress
its ever-attired advancing question.
There is the sound
of a man tripping freedom
toward the cliff of himself.
There is the sound
of a desire cranking a generator
inflating the ink of ripe inertia.
There is the sound
of anger seething its ego
through a storm's printed teeth.
There is the sound
of a song exploding
the lungs of its long-sought singing.
There is the sound
of meaning unwiring its circuit
to inspire a riot of light.
There is the sound
of emptiness compressed
into the immediacy of a mountain.
There is the sound
of a mountain loading
its ultimatum into a gun.
There is the sound
of a bullet subletting
a monk's public prayer.
There is the sound
of a star flashing the loss
of thought's grandiosity.
There is the sound
of a mirage braving the break-
through of a misconstrued god.
There is the sound
of a sharpened morning carving
a new east for the sun of Cleveland.
There is the resonance
of a target daresaying consciousness:
levy's offshot effect.