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
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.
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.