Where Everything Waits

By Ish Klein Ish Klein
                        Nobody was left who’d lastly scuffed first earth’s crust.
                      Boiling sea had thin-sheened each cubit of firmament.
                               Mountains ceased to assert, gave into ground
                                            arounding whatever hard rock
                                           to then there over and take down.

                    All shapes breaking hysterical particles and subs who settled
                                devoting former whir of shape to Silence,
                                                which was enough.

                             It stayed uniform Silent for some many months
                    which strengthened to pull outer space noise in to neutralize
                                                   but lost its grip.

                                 So this Sound hard-pressed in to sink holes
                              and look into original force that was still shut in
                         under black lacquer cabinetry: our future perfect world.

                                                 It opened the door of dust,
                                   the space sound picked up pings distantly.
                                 Seeing to sound is what and how Bounceback.

                                             Since the dust so still and small
                                             the waves skinnied high-pitched
                                    to switch on resistance of an average mote.

                                             What would stand to receive?
                          What was the point of pointing out resisting decay?
                                                 What was there to say?

                        Could anything be activated? Much was strained in “done” state
                  and so sought exit through the soft Silence under rather than he stabbed
                                       by the point-cornered Silence above.

                                                So sound deranged to be
                                               needle pierce to dust piece
                           and sunned a word heard first by the bygone (“ouch”).

                                 And the Silence startled by the sneaking sound
                                                forgot its own high ground
                                                and grumbled some rebuke.

                    Underground glad particulates laughed at the gaff and expanded
                        (something among it a voice) to sweep up what had been



                                                             PART TWO


                                                        One in Dust begun.

                                     One chased out to Perceptivity from mum.

                                      This made an in as such that could close

                       over after outreach which comes back with something to say.

                              Stretching comes to the zone where there is shifting

                            from mixing its own x-space with outside sensed data.

                                      Each already edgy piece in “earshot”

                             each piece pulled in by dust’s desire to harbor more

                                              is similar to dolphin noise.

                                          Riffs that began off flats of static,

                                               f.p. earth (future perfect),

                                             etched by rust-hinged sound.

                                                     Not all dust took in.

                                        Those who did not got ultra dense.

                                     If there was a strike to one of this specie

                           sparks would be three feet at least and atoms unleash.

                                        To them strikes relieve adhesion.

                       They like hits from nowhere; they won’t admit they are hard

                                                         in every space.

                                      But sparks in dark if an eye sees them

                              a mouth to say how beautiful a light of such blue

                                             that lasts and deepens blue.

                                       Shaped like a pin, each spark alights

                                          to hold itself, elsewhere, down.

                              What it lands on is to remember the spark beautiful.

                                      A spark from Hard Silence made mad.

                                The more made makes it harder which gets hit

                                         and flies further because it is harder.



                                                        PART THREE


                       Minute care is taken so that soft expansive dust gets all over

                                   the dense. Colors change as comes collision.

                                They want to do all they can now that they can.

                   Hopefully they don’t know about the deep frozen people in orbit.

                       Those on the figurative shelf until there is a proper place.

                                         More on that after the fire; for now:

                                         the Sound, the Nerve, the Building.

Ish Klein, “Where Everything Waits” from Union!. Copyright © 2009 by Ish Klein. Reprinted by permission of Canarium Books.

Source: Union! (Canarium Books, 2009)

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Poet Ish Klein

POET’S REGION U.S., New England

Subjects Nature, Stars, Planets, Heavens, Social Commentaries, Mythology & Folklore

Poetic Terms Free Verse