Sounds
nowhere can one escape to silence:
not the city, with the constant running
of rubber tires on asphalts and the drum
of voices both laughing and crying
nor in the country, where wind brushes
against grain and the barn yard animals
make themselves heard into the night
not even in the forest, where the brook
will babble incessantly, praying for a
bird to chirp out a response to its speech
no, everywhere one goes the noise
of life bursting at the seams with color
is audible and is calling us to drink
so drink life to the lees and be drunk
and in a stupor at the city, the country
the woods and the sun rising endlessly